


TAINTED

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, VERY STRONG SLASH CONTAINED!, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2004-11-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.</p><p>Gandalf goes alone to Isengard to parlay  with -or failing that -  to capture - Saruman. </p><p>***However, things do not go as planned, and Merry and Pippin fall into a terrible trap. </p><p>Aragorn and Legolas are the only hope they have - and Saruman descends into the finality of madness.</p><p>A vivid - and possibly disturbing! -study of Saruman's decline into total insanity- and the bizarre inner workings of his psyche - and Gandalf's response to the situation.</p><p>***Not for everybody.</p><p> if you hate Istar themed slash - you will not like it! </p><p>**if you don't like..don't read!!**</p><p>VERY STRONG SLASH  - VIOLENCE -STRONG S & M  THEMES - HURT</p><p> </p><p>FINALLY COMPLETE!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voyeur

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Tainted  
By Milly of Isengard  
NC-17  
Saruman / Mithrandir / Pippin / Merry / Legolas / Aragorn

VIOLENCE/ BONDAGE/ PSYCH BS / TORTURE /LUST/ ANGST / HURT/ COMFORT

Disclaimer: no bread made, of course. Saru belongs to me ( I wish )  
everybody else JRR's.

 

 

AUTHOR'S WARNING: VERY STRONG SLASH CONTAINED!

 

Mithrandir crept carefully and silently, making his way up the back steps of the fern covered inlet of the River Isen- here, as he had found out- for Saruman was not the only one with spies! –here, Curunìr took his repose, bathing in the captured waters of the river, and here was one of the very few places he would have his guard down.

Here, at long last, he could be bested, and with as little grief as possible. Or so he hoped.

Being put into a position of needing to subdue and overcome Curunìr was not to his liking-but it could not be helped.

Helm's Deep was only a week past, and the bloodshed and agony was still fresh and raw in his mind.

Saruman! It was his doing, and not just at the behest of Sauron, either. Mithrandir had initially believed that- he needed to believe that. But he gradually realized that Curunìr was on a quest for power all his own, driven by near-madness and lust for the Ruling Ring. He had to be stopped.

Quietly as any deer, Mithrandir stole into the enclosed grove –there, by the edge: Curunìr, in his flowing white robes, had just barely arrived himself, it seemed. He looked around briefly, nostrils flaring slightly like a predator, careful, vigilant. But not vigilant enough.

As Mithrandir watched silently and intently, Curunìr slipped his over-cloak off his shoulders, and it fell to the ground; then he unclasped the inner robe, and it too dropped. With a strange, and fearful sort of grace, he stepped into the water –

Mithrandir watched still, and was somewhat amused at himself, to find he was staring with vivid interest at Curunìr, now nude and half-immersed in the pool of dark water. He took it all in, not really intending to, but finding himself mesmerized by the sight. He had never seen Curunìr like this before. Curunìr was extremely aloof, and cold, and even when they had been very close, many years ago, he exuded a powerful air of unfriendly arrogance.

Mithrandir had not been offended- it was just his way, he had thought at the time. But now it seemed as if the exterior attitude had perhaps hidden a greater unkindness, and was only a visible symptom of something far worse than mere conceit.

And now, as Mithrandir watched with interested, even eager eyes, Curunìr slowly bathed and relaxed in the pool – he had lain down the metal staff when he had first come, and it lay on the ground like a straight black serpent.

Good, thought Mithrandir, the staff is out of the way, at least.

Curunìr turned towards his direction suddenly, and again the nostrils flared. He looked around carefully, as if sensing something. Mithrandir did not even breathe.

Satisfied there was no danger, Curunìr again turned his attention to the waters – he was powerfully built, long lean muscles, and very tall. Mithrandir very much did not want to have to battle him physically again:

he did not desire to harm Curunìr, and being embroiled in a fight would almost certainly lead to that outcome. It would be very different than when they had last matched skills – now they were once again unevenly matched, but in Mithrandir's favor.

Slowly, with almost painful stealth, he slipped alongside Curunìr while he was turned to the side – with preternatural grace, he stole behind until he was only a few feet away.

Then, suddenly, he confronted his old friend, rising up in front of him like a pale ghost.

Curunìr pulled back in alarm, but Mithrandir was far too swift, and grasped him in a relentless hold- "Saruman! Listen to me! Calm yourself, and listen to me!" Mithrandir shouted at him, but Curunìr was far too distressed to even hear his words. He struggled fiercely, and looked around desperately for his staff. "No, Saruman, you shall not reach the staff! Now get hold of yourself! I only wish to speak with you!"- Mithrandir knew he had to calm Curunìr, or the battle would be on.

"You steal up on me as a thief in the night, and then say you only wish to talk? Then why creep up on me this way? Your motives are clear from your methods, I think!" Curunìr snarled to him, still recoiling in Mithrandir's iron grip.

"I knew you would not receive me, and besides, the last time I was a guest at Isengard, I found it very difficult to escape – your hospitality!" Mithrandir answered him, and then he released his hold somewhat. Curunìr drew back as much as possible, slick with the water of the pool, and with the sweat of the struggle.

Mithrandir spoke firmly, sternly: "Now listen to me, listen closely, and listen well: all this must cease! Give up this terrible path, before it is truly too late! There is already much blood on your hands, come back to your senses before it goes any farther!"

But Curunìr only sneered at him, and replied scornfully: "Ah, more unasked for and unwelcome advice on my future, from he who knows all! Tell me, Mithrandir, did you really think I was interested in hearing all this, yet again? You have wasted your time in coming here, and ruined my nice bath, as well."

They were standing very close together now, waist deep in the cool water; Mithrandir edged closer still, with a mind to make a further point, and became suddenly aware of – what, exactly? Something pressing against him, and whatever it was, it caused Curunìr to jump slightly, and he made a soft sound of exclaimation.

Ah, so that was it! Mithrandir thought, bemused, I have – without meaning to – gotten too close, down there!

Curunìr was looking at him very strangely, almost with a lost expression, as if he was not sure what to say or do next. What, does he think I did that intentionally?, Mithrandir wondered, surprised, and was about to say so, when Curunìr spoke, instead:

"What are you doing, Mithrandir? What are you – why did you do that?" – he sounded almost awed, and then he stepped closer again, cautiously, as if he were not sure it was the right thing to do. Mithrandir did not move, indeed, he felt as if he were rooted to the spot, and so as Curunìr moved closer, their bodies were only inches apart.

Mithrandir looked into Curunìr's dark eyes, and then, wordlessly, for words would have complicated it enormously, he slipped off his own robes, and they faced each other in the water, the last barrier of Mithrandir's clothing gone now.

"Why did you come here? What do you want with me, or from me?" Curunìr asked quietly, "You know I cannot let you leave here." Mithrandir did not reply, but instead moved even closer, so that they pressed against each other tightly.

He saw that Curunìr closed his eyes, and Mithrandir slowly moved his right hand under the water and felt for him – finding what he sought, he took hold, and Curunìr gasped, looking shocked, but very excited as well.

"Oh, why are you doing this? Is this what you came to do?" Curunìr whispered into Mithrandir's ear, "So good, so very good", and his voice had become very thick -he sounded almost drunken, drunken with the pleasure of it, so unexpected, and yet so welcomed.

"Curunìr – lie back on the water's edge – just here-" Mithrandir found himself to be intensely aroused. He half-pushed, half-coaxed Curunìr out of the water and onto the edge, caressing him with such skill, and such affection, that Curunìr finally wrapped one arm around his neck, and lay back on the ground, with Mithrandir descending onto him.

No, not like this, he thought suddenly, and with one strong hand turned Curunìr on his belly, and Curunìr, for his part, did not resist or even ask why, but merely moved as he was guided.

In a matter of moments, Mithrandir had him positioned rightly, and found his way gently inside- Curunìr suddenly came out of his calm state, and struggled against him, almost in a panic. " Shh- shh- it's alright, I will not hurt you – keep yourself ready, and relaxed, it will be alright. Trust me, trust me. You will find great pleasure in what we are about to do, I promise you!"

And so Mithrandir sought to calm the increasingly alarmed Istar under him, and at the same time pushing himself inside, with infinite care, and so very slowly.

Curunìr felt the pressure become something else, altogether, and the feeling was so intense he cried out very softly, trying to stifle any sound, still unwilling to display his true feelings. There was pleasure, all right, so much so, that he could only barely silence himself. It was stunning, rapture – deep body-wracking throes. In another moment he would not be able to keep silent. It was too much.

Curunìr had experienced sexual pleasure before, but only with women, and although it had been very pleasurable, this was something entirely new.

This was, well, ecstasy.

And Mithrandir seemed to know it, damn him! Curunìr felt utterly - taken - and he supposed he was, too.

But there was no denying this pleasure.

And then the thrusts became suddenly much faster, and harder, and Curunìr felt his heart leap with a rush of adrenaline, as the shockingly powerful sensation rumbled through him, making him cry out at last, loudly, unable to control it.

The idea had formulated as he rode his unlikely lover into passionate exhaustion :

the perfect way to overcome Curunìr, without risking a dangerous battle –and so he slowed down his movements, and very nearly stopped altogether- Curunìr lay still and weary underneath him, their bodies glistening with sweat.

Then he began to move again, and Curunìr tried to move out from under him, but was pinned to the ground. And then the pleasure began again, and though he could scarcely believe it, he felt himself at the brink again, and it came more quickly this time, and it tore though him with a convulsive shudder.

Mithrandir at last allowed his own release, and spent deep inside Curunìr's tight and aching insides. The bliss of it was intense, and he kissed the strong shoulders under him as he came.

Still without speaking to each other, they separated finally, and Curunìr rolled onto his back tiredly. For several long moments, they simply gazed at one another, in a surreal mixture of desire and distrust.

And then Curunìr, although he did not expect to, fell into an exhausted and sudden sleep.

Silently, Mithrandir the White rose up, and put back on his cloak, and then put Curunìr's robes back on him as well.

And then, finally, he gently placed the iron manacles that he had brought with him loosely around Curunìr's wrists.

 

 

 

And waited.


	2. Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Curunír awoke in hazy awareness of his surroundings – and then, as the realization dawned of his situation – he was lightly but firmly shackled –rage boiled to the surface. The sheer daring of anyone to shackle him was extraordinary, unbelievable- and for it to be Mithrandir- well, that was insulting, as well.

Or so it felt, to him.

He looked around wildly, and saw that he was, in fact, not only shackled, but was secured from behind to a tall thin tree, with his arms around its circumference. Sitting shackled, trapped! His mind nearly burst with anger and frustration.

Someone was walking up to him.

“You!”, he shouted at the approaching figure in white, “I will kill you for this, I swear it!”

Mithrandir the White- radiant and resplendent – smiled at Curunír, with a look of indulgent amusement.

“Now, now, Curunír – is that any way to address your lover of a few hours ago?”

Curunír looked at Mithrandir with speechless fury – and then nearly screamed, “You deceived me! You betrayed me!” – and Mithrandir merely shook his head and replied:

“Betrayed you? My friend- you have a very short memory. You have put yourself in this position, and no one else. Except – perhaps – for Sauron, who truly bears the weight of the blame. You were tested, and did not live up to the temptation. And the lure of the Ring is – I know – very powerful. I do not totally blame you. But I have not betrayed you. I have, in fact, most likely saved you from a worse fate than mere captivity.”

Curunír looked as if he might literally explode, and lunged against his bonds, straining to break free.

“Saruman – cease your struggling! You are only going to hurt your wrists!”

Mithrandir frowned darkly at Curunír, who was looking at him with vivid hatred.

“Now: if you will but settle down for a moment- we can discuss this situation!”

Curunír forced himself to calm down, and sat back down on the ground, hard. Mithrandir watched him for a moment, and then spoke in quiet, measured tones:

“Now, there are many troubles afoot these days, and it has fallen to me to see after - and deal with you. And so I find myself responsible for your fate.”

He hesitated to see what reaction this would bring, but Curunír’s jaw merely clenched slightly, as it always did when he was thinking deeply.

So Mithrandir continued:

“As I was saying, I must deal with- this situation. I will not bore you by listing the charges -but among them number murder and treason, and outright war against your own allies. All this you already know. I know not what all you may have done, that is secret. I do not wish to know.”

“Get to the point! Why do you ramble and preach! Not everyone devours your every word, like your halfling-rabble you give sermons to!” Curunír snarled viciously, his face permeated with anger.

Mithrandir sighed, and finished:

“Alright, here is the point you are so eager for! You are my prisoner now, and I do not want any difficulty with you! I do not wish to hurt you – you really ought to know that- but I will restrain you, and if you give me any problems – I will not hesitate to take action to control you!”

Curunír stared at him in vast shock, and then, speaking in a voice so filled with outrage it trembled, answered:

“How dare you. How dare you! You – are- threatening me?”

“I am not threatening you. I am informing you what will happen, and how you may avoid having it happen.” Mithrandir said calmly.

“And what will you do to me, hmm? What, exactly? Kill me?” Again, he strained against the shackles, pulling so hard that the metal bit into his wrists, drawing blood.

“Nay, Curumo, I am not threatening your life- I have never implied such a thing! But - I tell you again- I will stop you by force if you leave me no choice!”

“Bastard! Treacherous, vile, consorting with the filth of this world, in love with the vermin that infest the Shire, and slavering after the men who infect this - ” Curunír seethed savagely – until he was cut off sharply -

“Silence!”

Mithrandir had suddenly had enough of Curunír’s raging, and seemed to grow in size – there was faint glow around him, and he took a step towards Curunír, who, for his part, did not show any signs of concern or alarm, but did fall silent.

Mithrandir was not reacting in anger- however- but allowing Curunír to work himself up more and more was going to lead to no good.

“Hold your tongue, keep your evil thoughts to yourself, at least to me! I have no interest in hearing your venomous notions. Now- get to your feet, Curunír, we have a ways to travel – a long ways.”

Curunír said no more, and Mithrandir went around carefully behind him and removed the manacles.

He put out a hand to help Curunír to his feet, but it was disdained, and slowly Curunír got to his feet, and stood before Mithrandir –

“My staff- what have you done with it? Where is it?” he asked –

Mithrandir replied carefully, considering his words before  
he spoke:

“It is safe- I have it- I cannot trust you with it!-and you hardly merit it, at this point!

“Give it back to me, you have no right! I demand- I demand you return it to me! And then- perhaps- I will listen to what you have to say.”

Mithrandir paused, and looked Curunír straight in the eye –

“Truly, your arrogance is beyond all telling! Have you no concept of what a prisoner is? You seemed to have no difficulty understanding, when I was an unwilling – guest- in your Tower!”

Curunír scowled darkly, but said nothing else.

Mithrandir motioned ahead to the road with his staff, and with an annoyed snort, Curunír walked slowly forwards.

They came to Shadowfax, tied to a shrub, remarkably well-hidden from view.

Curunír could see his staff, as it lay in the saddlehold-his fingers ached to grasp it, to get hold of it- oh, if he could only get hold of it, he would make Mithrandir pay, oh yes, pay dearly!

Mithrandir seemed to be aware of this, and he said softly, “Do not make me take any action against you, Curumo- leave the staff where it is, and do not try to take it! I will not allow you to do it, and I will have to restrain you! Now- walk- ahead of me- I will ride slowly, and have a careful eye on you!”

Curunír turned around, and faced Mithrandir, and for the first time, looked somewhat concerned, and as if he was taking it seriously, finally –

“What are your plans, then? What are you plotting to do- with me? Tell me the truth!”

Mithrandir looked at him thoughtfully, and then said:

“Would you have me decide your fate? Or stand before a tribunal of some sort? I will let you decide that yourself.”

With no hesitation at all, Curunír quickly replied:

“I would face you, and you alone, if I had my way. And what will you do- what are your schemes for my fate? If you plan on imprisoning me, pray, kill me now, then, and be done with it. I prefer that to being locked away! Draw that sword, and end it for me- for both of us.”

Mithrandir gaped at him, frankly astonished.

And then he realized he actually did not have any true plans for Curunír’s fate.

“Kill you? You are serious? I would never- I would not harm you, unless I had no other way out!” Mithrandir answered him, in a stunned, sad voice.

“Do not lock me away! You fancy yourself so very kind, yes, so very merciful! Then do not do this!”

Curunír was not even aware of it, but his voice was very strained, filled with worry – even fear.

Mithrandir considered for a moment- and then said- “ I cannot kill you, Curumo- did you truly believe I would? Or that I was contemplating it? Do not think on this anymore – this is hardly the time or place. I will promise you: I will not deal cruelly or unfairly with you!”

Curunír did not look relieved, and in fact, the fear was growing in his heart, as he now was coming to grips with being captured, and subject to some sort of consequences to all he had done.

But Mithrandir motioned again to the road, and though his soul felt troubled and weary, he started down the road-

Behind him, Shadowfax plodded softly.

I am utterly damned now – his mind whispered mercilessly (or was it really his mind?) – I am doomed, and damned.

Is there no one to help?

 

 

 

Where is the Dark Lord now?


	3. Torment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Curunír awoke with a shudder and an icy chill – Mithrandir had set up their camp on the very edge of Fangorn Forest – much to his dismay – and neither had spoken at all to the other until Mithrandir had offered Curumo some of his rations –

At first, Curunír had turned away scornfully, though he was very hungry

– but when Mithrandir offered a second time, he accepted – the hunger was too much.

But now- the dream, the nightmare- he had just awakened from- oh, how horrible!

The details were foggy, but he could still feel the terror of it.

The main elements were graphic visions of what lay ahead for him- his own fate, not only at Mithrandir’s hand, but the others as well.

It began with what seemed like endless confinement, in a cell that grew smaller and smaller, until it began to choke the life out of him-

And there were various horrors – various tortures and punishments, all accompanied by the laughter and glee of Mithrandir and Co. –

It finally culminated in an unspeakable sequence in which Curumo found himself tied to four horses- all of them white doubles of Shadowfax- and with Mithrandir himself astride every one- and as the ripping apart had begun, he had awakened in the cold sweat of panic.

Badly shaken, and shaking badly, he lay silently, in mute terror.

The voice in his head- just the same voice as in the Palantir- slithered into his head, telling him that this was, indeed, his fate- and he was a fool to have been captured.

I could feel the pain, he thought dismally, I could feel it! I could hear my bones breaking, and the joints separating –

He sat up abruptly, ill and upset. It had been so very real, so vivid.

The cold voice spoke into his mind again- I will help you – you do not deserve it - but I will help you-

He suddenly was aware of Mithrandir looking at him intently – as if he knew what had transpired.

“Saruman – are you – do you feel alright?” he whispered softly, and Curunír, unwilling to admit any weakness – even if Mithrandir already knew of his horrific dream- merely answered back , “Don’t you ever sleep? Why are you watching me? I will never let you use me again – like you did – I assure you!”

Mithrandir sighed, and lay back- and then replied:

“Curumo- you must not think I did- what I did- to you and with you-  
from a desire to trick you. I truly desired it- did you not, as well? If not, you certainly appeared to!”

Saruman said nothing, and Mithrandir continued:

“I made love with you out of – a sudden passion, a yearning for you. I have no need to lie. You can believe it, or not. But it would serve nothing for me to lie to you about it.”

Curunír listened, irritated that Mithrandir would not be silent, and yet somehow comforted by hearing his voice. Why should it be so?, he wondered, why do I find comfort in hearing him?

But the truth was, that he knew well that the dream – frightening as it was- was very likely a “gift” from Sauron- to terrify him into – into what, he did not know.

He very seriously doubted that he would ever see the day that Stormcrow ever lifted a cruel hand against anyone.

Even him.

“Mithrandir - I- ” – he stopped, unsure what to say, or how to continue- and then his lips were covered by Mithrandir’s, very suddenly -and his heart skipped a beat, in alarm, as well as excitement.

“Don’t.” he whispered in halfhearted resistance, although he was more excited than annoyed- “Don’t, Mithrandir – leave me be! Do not touch me!” -

Mithrandir did not answer or make a reply, but only drove his tongue softly between Curunír’s thinly pressed lips, and then into his mouth – and wrapping his arms around Curunír’s back as he did so.

Trying desperately to not cry out, to not express any pleasure, Curunír stifled the moans that were nearly issuing from him – Mithrandir was kissing his chest now, working his way slowly downward, and he could feel his cock stiffen and throb, with a life of its own- and a need of its own.

Mithrandir’s lips caressed his stomach now, and gentle but utterly insistent fingers crept into – and then opened- his robe.

Curunír continued to choke back any sounds of what he was feeling, even as he felt a warm, soft tongue lick just above where the large silver white tangle of hair began, pressing and probing with sweet, wet pleasure that sent deep shivers down his entire spine.

Mithrandir’s strong fingers wrapped around Curunír’s now fully swollen and aching cock, and he stroked it slowly, making the throbbing rise to a thunderous roar – then he lowered his head on it, and took the very tip in his mouth.

Ever so gently, and with the softest of pressure, he sucked tantalizingly – still only the very end, and it seemed to thrum under his tongue -

Curunír was having an extremely difficult time of it, trying to hold back what was rapidly becoming unbearable – irresistible- and as Mithrandir took down several more inches of his painfully hard prick, he finally could not keep silent any longer, and a long, shivering groan escaped his lips.

Mithrandir gave the task at hand the benefit of thousands of years of lovemaking, and the skill he possessed was having a decided effect :

Curunír was clutching the ground, digging his long nails in, and gasping quite loudly now – thrusting upwards towards the undeniable need, the shockingly intense sensations.

He had never had anyone do this before- most of his sexual experiences had involved servant girls and assorted village rabble- but none of them had ever done this to him.

He could feel it coming again, just like earlier, how long ago had it been? Twelve hours, or even less?

The rush of ecstasy, driving his heartbeat to a spinning, dizzy speed, and making his entire body convulse in warm spasms.

Mithrandir felt it begin, the pulsing in his mouth becoming so intense, and then the flood erupted in hot explosions, drenching his tongue and beard, and he heard Curunír’s quiet sounds of pleasure, and was glad for it.

“Leave me – leave me!” Curunír gasped, and Mithrandir said nothing, but got up, and went back to his bedroll.

They lay silently- both in their own thoughts – and finally fell into a troubled sleep.

 

 

 

But Mithrandir kept his eyes open.


	4. One Ill Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

A few days journeying took them to the edge of the Kingdom of Rohan – or what remained of it.

Everywhere, there were ruins, smoking with an acrid, somehow sweet smell, and Mithrandir was well aware that it was the scent of burning bodies.

Whole families- men, women, children – Curunír made no sign he was even aware of it, but he was, of course.

But it did not move him, and he was not touched by any pity for the victims.

He had begun to nourish a very deep anger towards Mithrandir- as they neared return to Mithrandir’s compatriots (something he dreaded to the point of terror now) – his mind became more alarmed and nervous.

Mithrandir would take him back, and he would stand before all of them, Galadriel, Elrond, perhaps even the filthy halfings.

They would solemnly hear the charges against him, and then pass sentence- sentence! – on him. And then they would drag him away, and there would be no staff, no Uruks, no anyone or anything to help him then.

For he would be in their possession, and under their power.

He shuddered, thinking on this.

Intellectually, he knew Mithrandir would never torture him, or be brutal-

But what of the others?

He believed that Galadriel had always hated him, and he certainly returned the sentiment. Filthy elf-witch.

And Theoden! Theoden was a coarse, ill bred excuse for a King- King, indeed! He snorted with scorn, and Mithrandir looked over at him sharply.

But Curunír did not even see this.

His mind continued to sing out silently, threats and omens spinning madly, coming from everywhere at once.

**You must escape!**, a familiar voice whispered gently, sly as any viper:

**If you do not do it soon, it will be too late. And they will punish you, and they will kill you, and as Theoden dreams of in his nightmares, they will string your bloody corpse up, and the crebain- your own crebain- will come and devour your pitiful, rotting remains!**

A soft cry escaped him then, before he could stop it.

Mithrandir stopped then, and climbed off of Shadowfax.

He faced Saruman, and looked at him intently- “What is wrong? What ails you, Curumo? I can see something is terribly wrong, I can feel the turmoil in your mind!”

Curunír looked back at Mithrandir, with a face paler than it had ever been, and eyes wide with fear and dread.

“And what should I be feeling, Mithrandir? You are dragging me back to your hellish company of ruffians, and what do you think I will feel? When you have all already judged me guilty, and prepared my doom!”

Mithrandir looked at him in dismay, and replied gently:

“You need not feel such appalling dread, Curunír – it is true- you are in serious – well, it is a serious situation – but no one is going to do anything drastic or wicked to you!”

Curunír laughed at his words, a harsh, terrified laugh, and turned away.

Mithrandir stared at him in pity and confusion- he did not want to lie to him, he was in trouble, obviously, very deep trouble.

But there would be no one at the Council who would not deal with him in fairness and with great compassion.

Except – perhaps – Theoden.

Theoden truly loathed Saruman now, and he had his reasons, certainly- Curunír had given him more than enough reason.

But one voice among the others would be overshadowed.

Good sense and wisdom, coupled with mercy and compassion, was what awaited Saruman, although he believed it not.

His own guilty mind- and perhaps some evil urging from the Dark Lord – were tormenting him, making him frantic.

“Curumo – I don’t want you to be so afra- ”, he began, but Curunír cut him off – “No more, Mithrandir! No more lies! Save your deceit and trickery for the mockery of a 'trial' I shall soon have! Or will you even have one? Shall I simply be taken away, and silenced forever, in whatever hideous way you all have planned? Then shall your hearts all be filled with joy, and you will all take your pleasure in – in my punishment!”

His last few words were nearly shrieks, and Mithrandir saw that speaking on the matter was not helping.

Clearly, he would simply have to be shown that what lay ahead was not the nightmare he had conjured.

“You are in error, my old friend, but you will see. We have nothing horrible in mind for you.”

He mounted Shadowfax again, and they resumed their slow march forwards.

And Curunír’s mind continued to seethe, and squirm, and he knew he had to escape – and if he could do it, if he could only manage it, he would take Mithrandir back to Isengard, and he would have a little tribunal for him!

Abduction, yes, I think you are guilty of abduction, and of gross idiocy, as well, what do you say, my Uruk Hai? And they would all roar their ugly laughter, and then it would be Mithrandir who was strung up, but not until- not until he had had his punishment!

Yes!

His dizzying and disjointed thoughts rose in a crescendo of cackling and maniacal laughter, threaded with despair and hysteria.

After all, his mind gibbered crazily, as I told him before, one ill turn deserves another!

They passed through the ruins of Rohan, and headed for Rivendell.

 

***soon*** the voice in his head purred, **very soon******show him no mercy***

Have no fear of THAT, Curunír thought blackly.

 

 

I have forgotten the meaning of that word, I think.


	5. Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Curunír awoke at dawn, as they grew very close to Rivendell.

The dread voice hissed at him viciously: **Hurry! Make haste. Idiot! Fool!**

He seethed inside at being addressed in this way:

he was used to respect, even grudging respect, and did not appreciate being called a fool.

Even when Mithrandir spoke to him – another fellow Maia – he did not degenerate into abusiveness.

That’s alright, he mused, the day will come –

and then he cut off his thought abruptly. Not good to think on that any farther. He already knew his own plans, why allow them to be spied upon?

Mithrandir came over then, with a pot of fresh tea –

“Good morning, my friend – would you like some tea?” he asked politely.

“Why do you speak to me so kindly, when I am well aware of your hatred for me?” Curunír asked him suspiciously.

Mithrandir frowned, and replied: “I do not hate you. I do not even wish to harm you. If I had wished to do so – believe me- you would already be harmed!”

Curunír regarded him scornfully, and then answered: “Yes, of course, that’s right. You said I was pitiable, or something along those lines. Always so forgiving. Weakling - you disgust me!”

Mithrandir suddenly seemed to grow several sizes and was now looming over him –

“Weakling, for feeling pity? How far you have fallen, indeed! But do not be mistaken: I do not absolve you of guilt, you could have fought much harder against the Dark Lord, you ought not to have used the Palantir- you knew that! – and you are a traitor and a murderer at heart, at least you are these days! So do not mistake my mercy to you for weakness!”

Curunír stared at him, speechless for once.

How Mithrandir did change his attitude like the change of the breeze, he thought to himself. How unpredictable, how prone to anger he is! Even through the façade of kindness, there beats the heart of rage.

Interesting.

“Now, again I ask you, would you care for some tea?”

“Only if I may dose it with a healthy splash of your blood!” Curunír snarled back, although he had the momentary regret for his words.

Why was he provoking him?–

he was hardly in a position to even defend himself. He might simply go over and fetch his sword Glamdring, and finish this here and now.

But Mithrandir only sighed heavily, and walked away.

Curunír felt bitter, shameful relief course through him.

In the flash of an instant, Curunír saw it: the chance, so longed for, and so hopeless-

In an extremely rare moment of carelessness, he had left Curunír within reach of the Staff- the black metallic guardian and culmination of his power.

Without taking even a moment to contemplate, he seized it from the saddlebag as swift as any lightning bolt – and felt his long fingers grasp its cold pitiless might.

“I think,” he spoke in the old familiar confidence now, “I think there has been an alteration in our morning’s plans, Mithrandir. You really ought to come out of that fog of yours! Too much Halfling leaf, I suppose.”

Mithrandir turned slowly around, and beheld the sight he already knew he would see.

A moment’s distraction, a moment lost in frustration – and this was the result.

Anger always leads to ruin, he thought ruefully- I really ought to have heeded my own advice!

“But never fear, my old friend!” Curunír sounded almost kind, “We will be journeying this day. Yes, but we are going back to Isengard!

His dark eyes glowed with malevolence –

“Now – get over there! Start walking, and keep your preaching tongue silent!”

Shadowfax nickered nervously, and Mithrandir reached up and patted his nose. “Don’t worry, it will be alright.”

But would it?

He started to mount the white horse, and Curunír almost screamed at him, “No! I want him gone! Now! Or I will do it myself- permanently!”

Mithrandir knew it was not wise to argue it, so he whispered in the horse’s ear, and he trotted away, not looking back.

Curunír drew himself up to his own considerable height, and faced Mithrandir again:

“Now- let us go, Mithrandir. If you enjoyed my hospitality before, you shall be utterly enamored of it this time. I promise you!”

Mithrandir looked at him in inexpressible sadness, and tried one last time to reach what used to be his greatest friend:

“Saruman- Curumo- why must you make it even worse for yourself? I plead with you- stop now before things go farther. More blood on your hands will only make your fate more difficult for you to bear!”

Curunír laughed his harsh laugh, and replied mockingly:

“Do not be troubled, old friend, as you take such pleasure in pity, I will give you more cause to feel it! You may wallow in it to your heart’s desire!”

Mithrandir looked at him gravely, and whispered softly:

“Curumo- you may go so far that my mercy cannot reach you any longer. It may be taken out of my hands.”

Unimpressed with the warning, Curunír pointed the Staff at Mithrandir and hissed:

“Be silent! Now, get going!”

 

 

 

 

They began the journey back to Isengard.


	6. Savage Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

The journey back to Isengard was stressful and dangerous- at one point, a band of wargs ventured close, jaws dripping fiercely – Curunír raised his Staff, and the wargs fled.

“I ought to have let them devour you.” he said conversationally to Mithrandir, who made no reply at all.

They continued on.

Curunír would toss him scraps of food, when the mood struck him.

And if he was in a very fine mood, he would even let Mithrandir have a drink or two from his flask.

They were now five miles from Isengard.

Curunír watched Mithrandir, who sat shackled and secured to a tree – just as he had been, himself- and mingled feelings of conflict and confusion began to trouble his mind – what was he feeling?

It was very confusing.

Curunír felt unfamiliar sensations – of arousal and emotion- and it made him very uncomfortable. Angry, actually.

What had Mithrandir done to him, anyway?

He had never felt these things before. He had always been satisfied to partake of fine food and wine- oh, he did love wine! He drank a little too much, perhaps.

But he had never been –so bothered- by that – thing down there.

There had been rare sexual activity with women - very rare, actually.  
Most females were terrified of him.

And now- well, now, it ached frequently, and seemed always on the verge of stiffening.

Especially in close contact with Mithrandir.

Of course, he thought unhappily, since he is the one who cursed it in the first place!

Some curse, he mused. Painful- and yet- the promise of pleasure, strangely.

He looked back at Mithrandir again. **What have you done to me?**

The ache was beginning again. He could feel the throbbing, a sort of humming in the veins of it. It was getting very hard and engorged.

One hand strayed downwards to examine the situation more closely, sliding inside the white cloak, and then he realized Mithrandir was watching him in return.

“What are you looking at!” he growled, quickly withdrawing his long hand from his robes.

“Ah, Curumo, I am not judging you, or leering at you. There is nothing wrong with feeling arou- ” -his words were cut short by Curunír’s Staff, which shot a bolt of energy very close to him.

“Do not watch me like that! I know what you are thinking! This is all your doing!”

Mithrandir thought to himself, that Curunír sounded very confused, and perhaps if he could explain it to him- the sexual contact they had experienced together had done nothing to make it understood.

He knew Curumo had enjoyed it, no matter what he said now to the contrary- a male orgasm is impossible to feign! – but his mind was visibly spinning from trying to understand it.

That, and the torment from Sauron, was driving him crazy.

Mithrandir tried again:

“Saruman, listen to me, please – it is perfectly natural. You have just not – allowed yourself to experience it until now.”

The anger welled up now, and Curunír felt himself losing control of it.

How dare Mithrandir address him this way, and how dare he- how dare he – do what he had done earlier **but it was so pleasurable** - no, it was not alright, and it did not matter how good it had felt physically.

Mithrandir was his subordinate! His pupil – he, Curumo was the Master, the superior!

He must be brought back in line.

**I do not wish to kill him** But he must be forced to submit!

Slowly, like a waking dragon, Curunír rose up and went to Mithrandir, who watched him carefully – without speaking, Curunír went behind him and bent down and unshackled his bonds.

“Get up.” He said coldly. “Get over there – against that boulder.”

Mithrandir saw that the black Staff – now ever-present as before- was pointed directly at his heart – he did not doubt that if the fury took him, Curunír would kill him- perhaps to regret it later, but that would not matter.

He did as he was told, and walked over to the large boulder –

“Lie down over it!” Curunír ordered him-

Mithrandir had a very bad feeling about this, but to refuse would risk a reprimand from the Staff – his own Staff had, of course, swiftly been taken by Curumo and was now in an unknown location.

“Now.” Curunír fairly purred, “Now a lesson is in order, Olorin. I fear I must remind you who is giving the commands, and who is taking them! You seem to have forgotten, my pupil, just who is your superior! But I shall remind you. A good lesson, I think, is in order- and one that will leave no doubt in your mind.”

Mithrandir heard the Staff come down, a sort of obscene whistling sound, and then he felt the pain of the blow upon his back. But he made no sound.

If anyone had stumbled upon the scene, they would have been astonished to see the two of them, White and shining both, two figures engaged in some bizarre activity.

But there was, of course, no one around.

Curunír felt that uncomfortable- stiffening – starting to happen- and he was amazed. It was brought upon by the strangest things.

“Take off your cloak!” he told Mithrandir, who did so. He was now only clad in the under robe, as glimmering white as the overcloak – but a pitiful protection against the assault of the heavy metal Staff.

Curunír did not mind. The better to teach Mithrandir this very crucial lesson.

He again raised the Staff, and brought it down viciously on Mithrandir’s back, and then again, and again.

The pure white was becoming tainted now with an ugly spreading crimson, and Curunír felt his heart racing, his pulse galloping.

He was getting very excited, and it drove him on.

His cock was hard as the Staff itself now, he reckoned. It ached maddeningly, and every time he brought down the punishing metal, it seemed to throb all the more.

Throughout, Mithrandir had made scarcely any sound.

The Grey Wanderer might have been moved to cry out- but –this was the White. He was now composed of a far stronger substance, and he bore the blows with silence.

The beautiful white robes were now wet with blood on the back, and Curunír stared at it, fascinated, aroused to the extreme, and yet, somehow, he felt the slightest sense of unease.

**YOU MAY GO TOO FAR**

He shivered as he recalled the dire warning he had received from his subordinate.

But he threw off the last vestiges of sense and reason, and continued.

“Now – for the final point I need to make.”

Speaking in the authoritative voice of a badly wronged teacher, who truly loves his pupil but must bring him back in line ( for his own good ) – Curunír pulled off the robe totally.

Oh, how he ached now!

Moving with unearthly grace, and the confidence of one who never considers defeat – and no regard at all for the great ill he had just done to a Being who could, if he wished, blast him off the face of Middle Earth –  
  
Curunír leaned in over Mithrandir, with a false appearance of affectionate closeness.

He pressed his swollen, hurting cock against Mithrandir, and with one searching hand tried to find the place he sought.

“Curumo.” Mithrandir forced the words out, through a shroud of agony- “ You do not need to force me. I will lie with you willingly. But there is a way- to do it- without force.”

“Be silent!”

He found what he was looking for, and began to push roughly in-

“Curumo – do not compound what you have already done!”

“Will you be silent, for the last time!” Curunír brought the Staff down hard against Mithrandir’s side, and he fell silent.

So this is what he felt, he thought dreamily, thrusting hard into the blissfully tight enclosure – ah, it is so sweet, I have never felt anything like this –

He was not trying to be brutal intentionally, he was far too immersed in pleasure to even think on that –but the shock and excitement of feeling Mithrandir like this was overwhelming, and he savored it, driving in with savage passion.

Mercifully, for the Istar under him, he could not last too long, the sensations were too strong, and in a few moments the waves of roaring ecstasy crashed in him, and he nearly passed out, half-collapsing on top of Mithrandir, who bore his pain silently as before.

He remained like that for another long moment, as the warm flood ran slowly out of his “pupil”.

Finally, he moved up off Mithrandir, and his well-satisfied cock slipped out, still flowing.

“Here.” He tossed Mithrandir his cloak casually, as if they had just finished tea together, and after Mithrandir had put back on his now stained garments, Curunír shackled him again.

“We are nearly home, Gandalf.” Curunír said, his voice thick and distant.

Before them, like a giant dark monolith, Orthanc reared up in phallic glory.

 

 

 

 

They were, indeed, nearly home.


	7. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Saruman walked Mithrandir forward, shoving him roughly with his Staff. The dark Tower loomed upwards, and it seemed to Mithrandir to almost be waiting for him, waiting to swallow him up.

Saruman smiled faintly.

Home.

He loved this place.

But - something was wrong.

Where were the fires? And the smoke? It had not occurred to him until now, but they ought to have been visible from a ways off.

His instincts sharpened, and he felt great apprehension.

“Move!” he shouted at Mithrandir, and as they cleared the tree line – or what remained of it – everything came into focus:

Isengard, all of it, was under dark water – flooded – and there were no more fires, and no more smoke.

Only Orthanc still seemed untouched, rearing up out of the strange new lake in obsidian finality.

Curunír felt as if he were choking – what had happened here??

Curses in Quenyan and the Black Speech burst from his lips, foul and uncouth, words he hated even hearing, and yet they poured forth in a flood of bitter anger.

“What has happened?” he shouted aloud, and stood stock still.

Mithrandir, who was as stunned as Curunír, also stopped, and they stood there for several moments, taking in the bizarre scene.

Curunír turned on him suddenly, in rage : “You! Is this your doing?”

Mithrandir looked at him steadily, and replied carefully:

“Nay, Curumo, I am as shocked as you. Perhaps you ought to see to your dwelling, see what has occurred in your absence!”

Saruman looked at him intently, and realized he was not lying.

He suddenly felt dizzy, as if he were going to pass out, and swayed badly. Mithrandir put out a hand to steady him, expecting a rebuke for his concern, but instead Saruman only leaned into the support.

“What has happened?”, he said again, dismay in his voice.

Mithrandir looked at him, with pity and yet caution – something HAD happened, obviously, and all the works of Isengard were now underwater. He knew Curumo was devastated by it, but anything that stopped his madness from any further fruition was good fortune. It was good for Saruman as well, though he would not believe such a thing.

He considered a moment, and then said:

“Saruman, listen to me – proceed with care, here. This may be the work of the Dark Lord. I know not who is responsible- perhaps it was even an accident. But as we go forward, we must take great care.”

Saruman straightened himself, and tried to regain his composure- it was very rare for anything to affect him so severely – but this was his greatest work!

And now it was gone, all of it.

“Come on, make haste!” he snarled at Mithrandir, and they went forward, to the chaos of Isengard.

“Where are my Uruk-Hai?” Curunír asked no one in particular, looking around in confusion.

The entire place was still, the only sound being the gentle murmur of the water, as it flowed in and out of what had once been the great wheels and machines.

“Are they all dead?” Curunír shouted.

Mithrandir shook his head, and wondered at the scene.

There was a sudden sound from above, and Curunír raised his Staff with admirable swiftness –

It was Grima.

He looked haggard, and terrified, and he looked down at them with wide frightened eyes.

“My Lord!” he gasped, “My Lord Saruman! The Ents. The Ents!”

“Stop babbling, Worm! Have you lost your reason?”

“My Lord: the Ents- the tree-people- the walking trees! They demolished- everything! They slaughtered the Uruks! And then they forced me in here, and here I still am!”

Curunír struggled to make sense of it, but Mithrandir understood very well:

the Ents had taken actions of their own against Isengard.

“Ents? Ents.” Curunír stared at Grima in blank anger. He tried to recall – ah yes- the Ents. His mind recoiled on itself, a storm of catastrophic proportions in the making.

We will see, he thought numbly – we will see.

“There is more, my Lord- the halflings- they had halflings with them, perched on the one – the leader!” Grima called down.

“Halflings!” Curunír hissed, hate flooding his senses.

Mithrandir shuddered slightly in dread. Oh no, the little fools! Pippin and Merry, without any doubt.

“Halflings!” Saruman said again, almost panting in anger.

“We are coming up, Grima. Make ready to receive our honored guest!”

He turned to Mithrandir.

“So – your little bastards. Really, Gandalf, did you think I would not find out this was your doing?”

“Saruman – I knew nothing of this. And the halflings- they were most likely swept up in the fray! They are no warriors! They shy away from the actual battle- just as you do!”

Mithrandir said this last comment with a sharp edge of sarcasm that was out before he could stop it.

Saruman struck him brutally across the face.

“Are you saying I am a coward?!”

Mithrandir swallowed hard, and replied – “No- no coward – but you do not like to dirty your hands. Is that not the truth, Curunír?”

Curunír clenched his jaw in anger, and answered him:

“If I had time, I would settle this right now, and silence your filthy insolent tongue forever. But I do not have time. Perhaps your halfling-trash will join you in your fate!”

Saruman reached out to push him towards the half-drowned staircase of Orthanc, and Mithrandir suddenly turned upon him and said sternly:

“You have captured me, Saruman, and I will deal with my own fate. But if you harm the hobbits- if you truly do this -”

Curunír gaped at him, speechless.

Mithrandir finished:

“If you harm the hobbits, I fear my caring for you may be clouded by my anger! Think well, before you unleash that which you are not prepared for!”

Curunír flushed a deep angry red, and then he shoved Mithrandir forward, so angry he was trembling.

I will silence you, Mithrandir, Olorin.

 

 

 

Yes, and that will be the sweetest moment of all.


	8. White Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

They moved forward, towards the newly formed lake surrounding the Tower.

Saruman hesitated a moment - if he misjudged the water, and missed a step and fell, there was more at stake than hurt dignity. Gandalf would be on him like lightning.

“You – first! Hurry up! Why are you so slow?”

He motioned impatiently at Mithrandir, who carefully began to negotiate the dark water. It was impossible to see how deep it was, or even where to step.

But using simple instinct and intuition, he was able to cross to the staircase.

Curunír followed exactly the same steps, as best he could, and made it to the steps as well.

They were both drenched up to the waist.

Curunír looked down at his wet, mud stained robes, and cursed viciously. He was getting used to the idea of doing so, now.

Mithrandir looked down, amused, despite the serious situation.

The cold water was causing him great pain in the injuries that Curunír had inflicted on him with the metal Staff. It felt like pitiless daggers across his wounded back. But he said nothing of it.

Grima opened the huge heavy door, and they entered the cold hall.

Saruman shoved Mithrandir into the library, cluttered with books and papers.

Saruman turned to Grima: “Get me something clean and dry.” Grima looked at Mithrandir, who was also soaked to the bone.

“What- what about Stormcrow, my Lord?” he asked hesitantly.

“What about him?” Curunír snapped at him, genuinely not understanding.

“I- he is – ah – wet, as well, my Lord”.

“What of it? Let him die of the cold.”

Curunír looked at Mithrandir to get his reaction. But there was no anger, only a calm expression of resignation.

“It would serve you well enough, after threatening me!”, he said coldly, and now Mithrandir did reply, saying:

“I was not threatening you. I was warning you. There is a difference.”

Saruman began to feel his blood rise in his face again, anger coming to the surface.

“Warning me? Warning me??” he sputtered, losing the ability to even speak.

Calm down, he told himself savagely, you will only make a fool of yourself!

Mithrandir sighed, and said softly:

“I have told you from the beginning- I do not wish to kill you, or hurt you. That is the truth. But - if you would harm those who cannot defend themselves- those who are so much smaller and weaker than you! – I will have no choice, but to do whatever I must!”

Curunír was more than beside himself with fury – the insolence! The unmitigated arrogance!

“I think,” he said, through gritted teeth, “I think you have ‘warned’ me enough. If you ‘warn’ me any further – I will kill you, right here and now. And that IS a threat.”

“Nevertheless, heed my words to you, Curunír, though they anger you greatly. I am striving to avoid – drastic harm. To either of us.”

“Then you had best be silent!”, Curunír screamed at him, his heart hammering with frustration.

Grima returned with a shimmering white cloak and robe, and Saruman took them from him, and then dismissed him curtly.

“Would you like to watch me do this?”, he said slyly, with a mocking smile.

Mithrandir frowned darkly, surprising even Curunír –

“Nay, Curumo, I am hardly in the mood for anything like that. In fact, after finding out just how low you would sink – threatening to harm a tiny hobbit! – I scarcely find you attractive!”

Curunír stared at him, unable to even think of a reply.

Mithrandir continued, unable now to keep from expressing his feelings:

“I did, though, at one point – I found you- most attractive. I had hoped we could, perhaps, put our differences aside, for the sake of it. But you have surprised even me, Saruman, with the depths of your depravity. The magnificent Istar I once – once idolized! - seems to have left forever.”

Saruman snorted with contempt for this last comment, and replied:

“Idolized? Is this how you show such boundless respect for me? By contesting me in this way? I gave you clear direction- you ought to have followed me! – but you rebelled against me! Speak not to me of your respect, if you had any for me at all, you would fall to your knees and beg my pardon!”

Mithrandir looked at him gravely, and said softly:

“You misunderstood me, Curunír- I said I HAD that respect for you. I no longer feel that way- you have slain my loving trust and respect for you on an altar of madness and evil! But - if you would be willing to retrace your steps, and come back to reason, no one would have greater regard and love for you, than I.”

Curunír laughed at that, and it was a cruel laugh.

“I will disrobe in private, then, since I am so appalling to you now.”

He did so, locking the library door behind him as he went out.

There was a sudden commotion at the main door, and Curunír looked at it, alarmed.

Now what?

Before he could think further on it, the door burst open and in shambled a ragged band of Uruks – they were filthy and stank of blood and mud and who knew what else –

They bowed low before him.

“My Lord Saruman. We have fought hard, and some of us have died hard, as well. Not many of us live to tell any tales, now. But we bring you a little something we found in our travels. I think you will like it, my Lord!”

The huge Uruk captain saluted Curunír, and motioned to his men.

Something was being brought forward.

Two somethings.

Curunír felt warm joy arise in his heart, and grinned broadly through perfect white teeth.

“Behold, my Lord! The guilty parties! For your pleasure!”

The Uruk captain grinned as well, and it was hard to say which smile was the most corrupt.

The two small shapes on the ground struggled and finally became recognizable:

The hobbits. Oh, it was the hobbits. The stinking vermin of the Shire.

Saruman opened his arms wide, and made a large gesture of welcome.

“Welcome, my halfling friends, to Isengard! You were here not too long ago, from what I hear, but you have returned! And now I am here to- to give you- a proper welcome!”

Merry and Pippin exchanged terrified looks.

 

 

 

They were in trouble. Very, very big trouble.


	9. No Mercy in Isengard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Merry and Pippin clung to each other, in trembling anticipation –

Saruman regarded them with dark cruel eyes, savoring the moment.

Then he turned to the Uruk captain, and said, “Well done! Well done, indeed! Now take our- guests- to the chambers below, so that I may prepare a more fitting welcome!”

The Uruk grinned through savage teeth, and again bowed low.

He turned to the badly frightened hobbits, and motioned to his men, and they roughly shoved the two small halflings out of the room.

Curunír stood for a long while, staring at the empty place where they had been.

Oh, this had been exquisite!

I must share this with Gandalf, he thought blissfully, I know he will enjoy it!

With perverse joy, he returned to the library, and slowly- carefully- he did not trust Gandalf – cautiously went in.

Mithrandir was sitting in sad disarray on one of the stone chairs, looking very chilled and tired.

For the briefest of moments, Curunír felt a slight tug at his heart, and considered getting Gandalf something warm and dry to wear.

Well, perhaps I will do so, but only after I tell him the good tidings.

This really cannot wait.

“Well?” - Mithrandir sounded cross, and that annoyed Curunír. Who is he to be in a foul mood- this is his own fault, all of it!

“I have wonderful news. We have – unexpected- but very welcome – company! Some friends of yours, I believe. Two very small friends!”

Mithrandir felt a bolt of horror go through him. Oh no.

“What- what – do you mean?”

Saruman smiled slightly. “Yes, my old friend, we are going to have two more for tea, I think!” And then he laughed, a strange disjointed laugh.

Mithrandir looked at him in horror and dismay.

“Leave them out of this, Curumo! They have nothing to do with it! Your anger is for me, remember? Pray, let them go- and I - I will do whatever you ask of me!”

Curunir raised a dark eyebrow, amused-

“Oh, truly, you will, indeed, Gandalf. But they are not going anywhere. They are not leaving here – at least not by their own power – when they leave, it will be in a very different condition than when they arrived! Perhaps, they shall be missing a few parts- ”

Mithrandir felt his hand move before he could stop himself, and he struck Curunír hard on the face, backhanding him, but pulling back slightly at the last second.

Even so, Curunír was knocked nearly to the wall by the blow, and he seemed to glow with rage, gasping in shocked fury.

“If you harm the hobbits – listen to me, this is your last warning, Curumo –if you harm them – I will take actions which I have never dreamt of taking with you! If you force me to my last resort, then I will have no choice – but to use it!”

Mithrandir kept his voice steady, although he was shaking inside with anger and fear – anger at Saruman, fear for Merry and Pippin, and fear for what he was going to be forced to do to stop Saruman.

But for himself, he felt no fear at all.

Curunir slowly gathered himself together, and in a voice that was deadly low and soft, he addressed Mithrandir in a tone of great threat:

“Gandalf, you have not only signed your own death warrant, but that of the halfling-filth as well. And their deaths will be far slower, and far worse, than anything I had even considered, prior to this! You – and they- shall pay for your insolent violence!”

And before Mithrandir could even reply, Saruman had raised the black Staff, and lashed him viciously across the face with it.

He staggered backwards, and collapsed to his knees- and Saruman struck him again, this time on the back.

Then, moving like lightning itself, he kicked Mithrandir in the face and sent him sprawling to the ground.

Curunír forced himself to regain control of his anger – he wanted this to last – if he continued, he would only kill Gandalf.

Not yet, he thought wildly, not yet. Make it last, like good wine.

“Get up!” he said, “Get up, Gandalf, ere I decide to kill you now and have done with it! I know you wish to die together with your little friends!”

He poked Mithrandir cruelly in the side with the end of the Staff, and as Mithrandir slowly rose to his feet, he motioned to the open door-

“Move. Now. Start walking!”

Mithrandir walked, and Saruman snarled orders to him, directing him down a long staircase. He had not even known it was here. Orthanc had not had a lower chamber before.

Of course, Curunír had ordered this created. A dungeon- or worse.

Suddenly, a keening wail broke the tense air, and then another.

Mithrandir stopped walking, trying to listen, and Curunír stuck the end of the Staff in his back and shoved him forward.

Torture.

The unmistakable sound of torture.

It was a young voice, young and terrified, enduring sensations that were a shock to the unprepared and immature creature suffering them.

Mithrandir shuddered with pity and sorrow.

They reached the bottom of the staircase, and Curunír took out a large key- it was relatively new, and still shone, in sharp contrast to the others of the Tower, which were ancient and dull.

He opened the large iron door they stood in front of, and ordered Mithrandir to go in.

He did so, and beheld a strange and appalling scene:

The room was dark, lit only by blazing fires and a large torch.

There were Uruks and Orcs – some had survived the siege of Isengard by the Ents, it seemed- not many, perhaps ten or fifteen. They stood at various implements of torture – ready to do their master’s will.

Mithrandir’s eyes quickly scanned the room, and he saw there were many instruments of horror:

There was a rack, for stretching a body, and then breaking it - there was a strappado device, for pitiless hoisting, and the torment of limbs dislocating – there were all kinds of frightening implements held by the Orcs, all ready to inflict severe punishment, at Curunir’s command.

Mithrandir looked back at Curunir, and saw that his face had lit up like a small child with a beautiful and rare toy.

How you have fallen!, Mithrandir thought silently, in deep sadness.

There was another wail, more piteous than even before, and now the true horror revealed itself:

Merry and Pippin were hanging by their wrists in the far corner of the room, and a large Orc was holding a lit torch, bringing it close to their faces, and then taking it away.

They were merely being terrified, at this point. The real festivities had not even begun.

Mithrandir looked again at Curunír, who wore a look of obscene pleasure at what was happening.

“Perhaps, Saruman, such things as torture would not bring you such pleasure, if you really understood the nature of pain! You always keep yourself far from harm, and danger, and you have never truly tasted suffering yourself!”

Saruman looked back at him, with a very strange, glazed expression, and murmured dreamily:

“The nature of pain – yes – pain, sweet pain – soon you shall be able to enlighten me, Gandalf!”

What, is he – aroused - by this? - and if so, by the giving of the pain- or the receiving?, Mithrandir thought, shocked – he had seen the shadow of sadistic desires looming in Curunír, and yet, this look he had - almost a yearning, somehow.

But for what? Vengeance? Or something else? Something he did not dream of, even himself?

The way he had said, You shall be able to enlighten me – there had been more in his voice, more than just a cruel observation.

Something else, anyone else would never notice, but Mithrandir was very, very astute.

Certainly, he has a dreadful death-wish, at the very least!, Mithrandir concluded, and I pray I am not forced to indulge it!

Mithrandir’s troubled thoughts were broken by a scream, a true scream of pain, this time, and with sickening clarity of vision, he watched as the Orc lashed Merry with a small black whip- the whip was studded with iron spikes, and when it came down again, Merry cried out in agony.

In the dim red light, Mithrandir could see blood dripping from his whipped back. Pippin was in tears, and he suddenly saw Mithrandir, and cried out to him:

“Gandalf! Oh Gandalf! Help us! Help!”

Mithrandir turned on Saruman, his blue eyes blazing with a dangerous anger –

“Stop this! Stop at once, Saruman!” He seemed to have increased in size by several times over, and the Orc dropped the whip, alarmed. The others retreated backwards, away from the two Istar.

But Saruman only laughed softly, and turned back to the grisly scene in the corner.

“Continue! Now! Or you shall be next!” he snarled to the frightened Orc, who seemed to have lost all interest in his task. He was young, and despite his size, looked very bewildered and unhappy now.

He picked up the black whip, and lashed Pippin this time.

Pippin screamed, and then wept loudly.

“Gandalf!!”

Mithrandir was approaching the breaking point – but his Staff was gone – Glamdring was gone- he would have to rely on his own Istar powers.

Beside him, Saruman laughed softly, in maniacal strange laughter that was nearly sobbing.

He turned to Mithrandir, “Don’t worry, my old friend, your turn is coming! Soon, soon!”

In the red lit hell, the hobbits screamed, and the two White Istar beheld the horror, one in grief, and one in insane excitement.

Silently, Mithrandir said a prayer to the Valar.

 

 

 

This could not go on.


	10. The Way of Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Mithrandir weighed his options quickly – Saruman was standing right beside him, wielding the dangerous metal Staff – there were numerous Orcs and Uruks in the room, but he was not too concerned about them.

Saruman was the only real opponent to be concerned with.

What had happened to his mind?, Mithrandir wondered sadly. He seemed to have totally lost all reason, and yet – his speech was calm and cold, without any trace of madness.

But that laugh!

Strange and soft, it was the laugh of a madman –

And the sheer insanity of it, being brought upon by watching the little halflings being tortured!

He had to try – something.

Anything.

He turned carefully around to Saruman again, who was utterly absorbed in what was happening in the dark room – Merry was now being singed by one of the Orcs, and a hulking Uruk was lashing Pippin mercilessly.

They screamed hoarsely, their terror and pain seeming to echo off the stone walls.

Make haste, or he will have them killed!, Mithrandir realized, desperate and horrified.

He looked Curunír in the eye and saw that- oh, he was grinning, fiend that he had become now!

Poor, insane, lost Curumo!

“Saruman! Will you hear me a moment – are you even listening?”

“Hmmm?- ?”

Curunír had a far away look, as if he were in a wonderful dream-

Mithrandir could bear no more- he seized Saruman by the shoulders, and held him firmly-

Saruman stared back at him, disinterested, in some sort of fog, but he did not raise the Staff –

“Have you no fear for your soul? Do you fail to understand what this will earn you? I told you, you may go too far at some point! You are on the brink of a precipice -!!”

His voice shook the room, and the Orcs recoiled- Saruman stared back at him, his dark eyes beginning to show anger, and alarm as well.

Mithrandir had taken on a vivid appearance, shining with some unearthly power – his strong hands held Saruman by both shoulders with irresistible Will.

Saruman was riveted to the spot, and he realized to his horror that he could not move-

“Let go of me, Gandalf! Let go, do you hear?”

But he felt his own Will beginning to weaken, and his strength was fading. He had to fight back, or – or –

Dizzy, he began to succumb to the overwhelming feelings - Gandalf, he thought drowsily, is draining my Will, draining it away – using his power on me –

he closed his eyes, on the edge of sleep, listening to the gentle words from his enemy:

“That’s it, yes, that’s much better – be at peace, now – everything will be alright – trust me, Curumo- trust me, I will not harm you -”

Curunír tried weakly to shut out the hypnotic words, the powerful sedation of the sound-

“Be easy, Curumo – you are not well, I will help you, I told you that – no one will harm you - ”

The Orcs and Uruks shrank back in horrified fascination, watching the incredible scene play out before them –

Even Merry and Pippin ceased their frightened wailing, and gaped at the sight of Saruman and Gandalf, both blindingly white, Saruman swaying slowly, eyes half-closed, and Mithrandir slowly reaching for the black Staff –

With a jolt, Saruman suddenly snapped out of the spell and forced himself to clarity-

A savage animal-like snarl tore from his lips as he whirled on Mithrandir with unnatural swiftness, pulling himself out of his grasp – he raised the Staff high and brought it down across Mithrandir’s shoulders, knocking him down.

Again and again he brought the Staff down, and finally Mithrandir sank under the crushing blows- and collapsed.

“I warned you!”, Curunír gasped, “I warned you not to take the way of pain! But you have done so, despite my warning! And so you shall take that path, to the fullest extent, as you have desired!”

He grasped a handful of Mithrandir’s long silver white hair, streaked now with blood and their mingled sweat, and shouted to the Orcs:

“Which is the most painful? Of all this, what is the worst?”

“The worst, my Lord? That would be- the rack, maybe? They are all painful, my Lord!”

Curunír frowned darkly – Gandalf had been right, he did not understand pain- he could not fathom the different degrees of it – pleasure, he understood – better now than ever, since their – coming together.

Somehow, in his mind, pleasure and pain seemed to be two sides of the very same coin. But how could that be?

But no matter- no one needed to ever know that, as he had watched the halflings being tortured, an excruciatingly painful erection had strained to burst through the folds of his robes.

He had been very close to release, in fact, too close to orgasm to even care if he was observed, when Gandalf - the fool! – had interrupted him.

So close.

Thinking about it now refreshed the frustration, and he struck Mithrandir across the face with his long hand, and began to drag him over to the rack.

“Make it very bad, very terrible for him!”, Curunír hissed to the Orcs, and they hastened to comply, taking Mithrandir and lifting him onto the rack. They swiftly secured him, and Curunír looked down at him, feeling a sense of mingled emotions.

Lost in haze again, his mind was clouding.

He reached out to Mithrandir, and absently stroked his hair.

He had a sudden, strong desire to lean down and kiss him on the lips – thrust his tongue into his mouth, awaken him, and then they could – they could – but no – he could not do that- not with all the foul Orcs watching – leering – not understanding.

Understanding what?, his mind reeled - What are you thinking of, and why?

For a brief moment, he came very close to ordering that Mithrandir be taken off the rack.

And then the **voice** screamed in his head, and it was no use:

**Now you have him!** **Finish him!!**

He touched Mithrandir’s bloody, bruised face – “My Lord?” came a hesitant, confused voice – this time outside himself.

“My Lord- we ought to begin, eh?”

Saruman stared at the Orc blankly – and again the voice inside came, burning him like fire, it had never been like this- this was pain, certainly!

**FINISH HIM!!**

**OR IT WILL BE YOUR LIFE TO PAY IF YOU FAIL!**

Saruman shivered slightly, and looked again at Mithrandir, who was slowly opening his swollen eyes – he reached over again, and once more ran a taloned fingertip over Mithrandir’s face, trailing it slowly over his lips, frowning again, excited and terrified all at the same time –

***YOU WILL PAY IF YOU FAIL, CURUMO***

Mithrandir tried to speak - “Curumo- Curumo, listen to me – please, listen to me!”

Curunír looked down at him, without words, and Mithrandir could see the hesitation in his expression-

***FINISH IT!!!!!!!!***

Curunír clenched his fist, startled – he backed away from Mithrandir as if burned-

“Curumo! Don’t listen to him! I know the Dark Lord torments you! Close your mind to Sauron!”

Mithrandir strained against the iron shackles of the rack, and then he saw Saruman raise a hand, as if in invocation-

 

 

 

 

And then the rack began to come to life, and the great wheels turned.


	11. Legolas Remembers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Legolas awoke with a start, and felt a great sense of nameless dread-how long had it been, now, since Mithrandir had insisted on going alone to Isengard?

Too long, far too long.

He had sworn Legolas to secrecy, saying:

“I must try one more time, and I must go alone. The others are too smitten with their anger, and it will cloud their reason. I must try to bring Saruman back to sanity. Tell no one of this. And send no one after me. Promise me this!”

Legolas had frowned then, and Mithrandir had pleaded with him silently with his soft blue eyes.

And so he had agreed, but with great fear in his heart.

Elves highly prized mercy and kindness, but this seemed to be a situation that was beyond that point now.

A decisive blow, to end the threat, was what was needed.

But Mithrandir, for all his wisdom, was still too tied to Curunír, and he could not see past that.

Legolas turned over on his bed fitfully, and recalled back to his own encounter with the White Istar, just after Mithrandir had told them all of his treachery at the Council:

 

 

They had been preparing to set out – the new “Fellowship” – in five days time.

He had ridden like the wind itself to Isengard, but he had gone not to save, but to destroy.

Curunír’s treason – and this was before the slaughter at Helm’s Deep, and the Warg massacres - was not enough for Legolas to judge him worthy of death, but it was the simple fact of the immense threat he posed to them all now.

The Dark Lord was enough to contend with – the odds against them were terrible, as it was -better to go to Isengard, and end Curunír’s deadly power on Middle Earth.

And they were taking the hobbits on the journey! Frodo had volunteered to carry the Ring, but why the others? Did they have no sense of the appalling danger?

No, Curunír would stop at nothing now, in his madness and fury, to destroy them. He would have to be stopped.

He had approached Orthanc with the stealth of a hunter- indeed, he was on the hunt.

He had easily slipped past the Uruks guarding the grounds- and had entered silently, as a thief in the night. The moon had loomed above him like a watching demon, and he stole up the winding staircase.

There, in the half-light of his chamber, Curunír.

Dangerous, aware, desperately wicked.

He had looked as if he were asleep- ah, but was he?

Legolas had approached the huge bed carefully – it was draped in white and silver satin, and Legolas wondered at the scene.

He had looked down at his prey – Curunír lay like a silent dragon, eyes closed, with a deceptive peace about him.

Legolas had drawn his dagger- it was a very long Elven blade, designed to deliver a quick and sure death. He stole to the very edge of the bed, and cautiously reached out a hand- it was trembling, he had been shocked to see -

He placed his hand lightly on Curunír’s chest, slowly rising and falling, and felt for the exact place for the blade – there, just there:

the pounding heartbeat, the powerful ancient heart working like some once-sacred machine, now reduced to sustaining a life gone mad.

One thrust- one sure thrust- and it will be quick - Legolas had shuddered, and felt astonished, it had never bothered him so intensely to kill when there was no choice- what was ailing him now?

I will only have to see him look at me for a moment – his eyes will open in shock, as the blade sinks in, but I am very careful. I am very strong with a blade.

It will be so fast – the severed heart will cease its fevered beating almost immediately, and then – then-

And then he realized it- what was wrong:

Killing an armed opponent in battle was one thing, unpleasant, yes, but simply what had to be done.

But this was not battle- true, Curunír had decided to make an enemy of himself – but he lay asleep before Legolas, unprepared, unarmed.

This would, truly, be murder.

Justifiable, perhaps, to some, but not to an Elf.

Dishonorable, and shameful.

A cowardly act, indeed, to slay a sleeping enemy.

He had sighed, and fingered the blade one last time, and Curunír breathed softly, oblivious to his death standing before him.

Legolas had backed away then, and left as swiftly as he had come, and rode back to Rivendell.

( he never knew that, in the moment he had left the room, Curunír had opened his dark, cunning eyes, and grinned broadly with bitter, amused contempt )

He had gone to Mithrandir then, and approached him with a sense of mingled guilt and dread.

Mithrandir had received him with a strange smile, and Legolas had confessed all, nearly sobbing:

“I could not do it, Mithrandir, I could not. It was - it was not honorable! I hope you may forgive me my weakness- I have disappointed you, I know!”

Mithrandir had shaken his great shaggy head, and gathered Legolas in his arms, and said:

“Weakness? And disappointed me? Nay, my young Elf – I have never been prouder of you!”

Legolas had looked at him then, in stunned wonder, and mumbled:

“But - why – I had feared I had let you all down-?”

Mithrandir had looked at him gravely, and replied:

“How so, my lad? By showing mercy, and compassion? For exhibiting simple decency, and honor? You could never slay someone as they slept before you, helpless!”

He had frowned slightly, and then continued:

“Although I have doubts if he were truly asleep, and even more, that he is ever truly helpless! But no, Legolas, I would not have had you kill him, even if he stood before us now, awake and threatening direly! Remember: killing is a last resort- NOT a first choice!”

 

 

As Legolas thought back to all this, he felt hot tears sting his  
eyes.

Kind, forgiving Mithrandir.

He had fallen because of Curunír – died because of him!

And now, he had come back from the Beyond, and still his heart had moved him to go – alone, and in great peril - to Isengard, on a mission of mercy.

He sat up, tears streaming down his face.

He could feel the utter certainty of it, Mithrandir was in great danger. And great pain.

I must break my vow, my mellon, he thought sadly.

You must understand.

We must go to you- you have given your all, for a once loved enemy – but now you must allow us - your friends - to come to you.

To save you, this time.

He rose from his bed, and dressed quickly, and fled out the door.

Aragorn!

 

 

 

 

We must ride for Isengard.


	12. Deliverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Mithrandir bore the endless agony with resolute strength, but it was the sounds of Merry and Pippin crying out, that broke his heart.

He had been stretched painfully on the rack, to the point of very nearly crying out himself, but he had bitten his tongue fiercely to avoid doing so.

It was not a matter of pride, or even dignity- if Curumo heard him scream, or even moan in pain, he would be greatly encouraged to even greater tortures.

Then they had hoisted him up by his wrists, and lashed him with the studded whip- the one used on the halflings – till the blood ran again from the wounds, and opened again the misery inflicted by Curumo earlier.

The pain had become almost surreal, and through it all, the sobs and screams of the hobbits tore into his mind, and he could do naught to help them.

It had gone on seemingly for many hours, and yet he found he did not truly have any gauge of time now.

He briefly caught a glimpse of Saruman, sitting on the rack, watching the activities with naked, hideous excitement.

He wore a look of detached and frightening attention, and his eyes shone with dark malice.

He was clutching his black Staff, his long fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically.

Mithrandir closed his eyes- he did not wish to see any more.

Suddenly, Saruman’s voice boomed through the room –

“Enough! Cut the halflings down!” and for the most fleeting of moments, Mithrandir dared hope that this might be ending- at least for them.

Perhaps Curumo had found his heart again - ?

But it was not to be –

“Time to die, shire-vermin!”, he heard Saruman snarl, and then, “Bring that one – bring him to me – yes, one at a time, I want to enjoy this!”

Gandalf heard Pippin’s unmistakable young voice wail in fear and unhappiness, and his heart wept bitterly.

And then –

There was a tremendous crash, and the door burst open- arrows flew, and Gandalf heard the sound of swords and cries of pain – so much pain, it never ends, he thought sadly -

“You there! Traitor! Stand down!” Aragorn’s voice.

Could it be??

“Against that wall, Curunír! – now! Drop the Staff- or my arrow will find your black heart!” Legolas.

A sound of something heavy – metallic – hitting the ground.

And then, hurried, frantic hands upon him, cutting him down, and gently lowering him to the ground.

“Mithrandir!” Legolas knelt close to him, and Gandalf managed a weak smile.

“What did he do to you? I shall slay him for this, and no relenting, this time!”

But even as he began to get to his feet, Gandalf grasped his arm, and whispered “No, Legolas, no! Let me - deal with him!”

“Mithrandir – please- let me end this – can you not see? The hobbits – oh, I beg you, let me finish him!”

Legolas helped Mithrandir to his feet, and then – “Here: you may have need of this!”

The Staff! His Staff!

“We found it as we came down here, in the possession of a very unfriendly Uruk – he had to be – convinced! – to relinquish it!”

He said this as a small attempt at humour, but Mithrandir had seen and heard enough of suffering this day.

Anyone’s suffering.

Enough agony to last a lifetime or two.

But the Staff- it was back where it belonged, and it began to glow at the end, the shaft thrumming with power, as if it had come back to life.

Aragorn spoke now to Saruman, who stood silently in the corner of the room, his face alight with pure hatred.

“Saruman – you are our prisoner! In the name of Middle Earth- I place you under arrest, for your crimes and your treason!”

Saruman curled his lips in a snarl, and spat out his scathing reply:

“You place me in arrest? You?? And who has given you such far-reaching sway? You, the bastard pretender to the throne! Roaming ranger with delusions of grandeur! I am not under your power, and shall never be!”

“But you ARE under mine!”

They all turned to Gandalf, who had composed himself significantly by now, and was facing Saruman, a look of calm determination on his weary face.

Curumo glared back at him steadily, but he had suddenly lost some of his own confidence, and now he fell silent again.

Gandalf turned to Legolas, who was tending the injured and badly terrified hobbits-

Gently, he reached out and touched their faces, and Pippin began to cry again. How like a child he really is!, Gandalf thought, with great love and affection.

Curumo- tortured them! –

and they – at least Pippin- are but half-grown ( nearly a child )- and he tortured them!

Yes, I will deal with you myself, old friend.  


 

 

I would have it no other way.


	13. Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Mithrandir felt a surge of anger so intense he was nearly dizzy from it, as he knelt down by the small hobbits.

“Will they be alright, my friend?”, he asked Legolas very softly –

He again reached out to Pippin, and stroked his frightened young face-

“Shh - Pippin, it’s alright now, my dear little Pippin. Legolas will take you away from here, both of you, you will be safe now!”

He turned to Merry : “Merry – be strong- be brave! - take care of your cousin – will you do that for me?”

“Yes- yes, Gandalf! Of course I will!”

Mithrandir knew that by giving Merry a task, he was helping him to recover more quickly from the horror he had just undergone – and Pippin DID need to be looked after, as well.

He put a gentle hand on Merry’s small shoulder, and squeezed affectionately.

Mithrandir stood up, and addressed Legolas and Aragorn:

“My friends, you have come to me, in my hour of most dire need, and I can only hope I can repay you some day. But now- I ask you - to take these two out of here, and ride back to Rivendell, and await me there!”

Legolas shook his head, frowning, and replied:

“Far be it for me to disobey you, Mithrandir – but I made the mistake once of agreeing to such a thing. I do not wish to leave you alone again with - with this monster!”

He looked over at Saruman, who was watching them intently.

Aragorn spoke up as well, saying:

“He is right, Gandalf, how can we leave you here alone with Saruman?”

But Gandalf merely sighed, and said:

“I must insist, and you must trust me. Take the Staff of Aule back with you, for safe keeping. He will not be needing that. Ride swiftly, and with caution. Do not look back, and do not return to Isengard. I – we- will come to Rivendell, when this – is settled!”

Legolas began to say something, and Gandalf stopped him, saying:

“There is not time, mellon! Do as I ask of you – take the hobbits back to safety!”

Legolas looked at him in fear and grief, and then he and Aragorn turned away, and gently helped the hobbits to their feet.

Legolas picked up the black Staff from the floor, carefully, as if he were afraid it might burn him to touch it.

Saruman started forward, seeing this, and Gandalf raised his own Staff, and said sternly:

“Back, Curumo! Back, and do not move out of your place!”

Curunír glared at him in fury, but he backed into the corner again, with the look of a wolf at bay.

“Go, now!” Gandalf said to Aragorn and Legolas, and they moved towards the door, taking the hobbits with them.

Pippin looked back at Gandalf, and in a small, hurt voice, said:

“Gandalf, be careful – please? Please be careful!”

Mithrandir smiled at him, and replied in his most reassuring tone:

“Don’t worry, my young Peregrine! We shall be joining you very soon- Saruman and I have a few things we need to – work out! But never fear – we shall be along presently!”

Pippin looked even more worried, now, and after a moment’s thought, said in a shy voice:

“Are you sure you cannot – uh – just come by yourself, Gandalf?”

Gandalf shook his head, and then said softly:

“No, no, my young Took, but you will never need to fear an ordeal like this again. I promise you, from the bottom of my heart! And I have a feeling that Lord Saruman may even apologize to you both, after we have our little talk!”

He winked at Pippin and Merry, and then said:

“Now, you must go!”

They departed, still casting fearful glances backwards.

He turned now to Curunír.

“Curumo – we are alone again, my friend.” He slowly began to walk toward Curunír.

“Come here, Curumo – we have much – to ‘discuss’.”

He smiled gently.

And now, it was Curunír who moaned, and sought deliverance.

But there was none.

He had gone – too far.

Saruman backed against the hard stone wall as far as possible, and then there was simply nowhere left to go.

His eyes locked with Mithrandir’s, and for what seemed an eternity, they simply stared at one another.

Saruman felt extremely unwell, physically – he would have done anything, anything at all, to have been able to escape.

Gandalf’s retribution on him would be - well- he could not really bring himself to think of it.

He had tortured the halflings- nearly killed one of them- and he had been warned.

Gandalf had warned him – had pleaded with him! – to stop, stop before – but of course, none of that mattered now.

Outside, Saruman could faintly hear the sound of Aragorn and Legolas riding off.

All the Orcs and Uruks had fled, or been killed. They were not very likely to return. Grima had fled, as well, apparently.

They were alone now, utterly alone.

That was it, then.

Hopeless.

Even the Staff was gone, carried away by that damnable Elf!

He looked at Gandalf, who was looking steadily back at him with a frightening and strange expression. Cold – so very cold!

Curunír felt himself shiver, and he was unable to stop. His legs felt as if they would give way, and the world swam in front of him. His blood had gone very frigid, and the trembling became more intense.

So, this is what terror is like, he thought, in bleak dismay.

Mithrandir startled him badly by suddenly speaking:

“Curunír – come here!”  
  
Saruman found he could not speak, and was astonished at this.

Gandalf frowned then, and knit his great brows.

He raised his Staff, and to Curunír’s very great alarm, began to draw him forward. He tried to resist, but there was really nothing to be done.

Mithrandir pulled him forward by sheer magic, and when they were only a few feet apart, he spoke again:

“So, our fortunes have changed again, Curumo. I think, this may be the last reversal. I do not find you to have the upper hand, now.”

He spoke in a tone that was very unusual for him, a voice that had no kindness or gentleness, and Curunír’s blood went from chilled to pure ice.

Mithrandir looked at him ever more steadily, and then spoke words that carried sheer terror to their hearer:

“I think, now, it is time you learn to understand the nature of pain, at long last.”

He walked over to the wall where the iron shackles hung, as if patiently awaiting their prey.

Mithrandir looked at them silently, and then back at Saruman, who merely stood there, rooted to the spot, and speechless with horror.

“Shall we begin?”

He raised the Staff, and began to pull Curunír towards him.

 

 

 

 

 

Curunír choked back the sound rising in his throat, with a great and savage effort, and realized, in terrified wonder, that it was a scream.


	14. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Mithrandir pulled Saruman over to the shackles, very much against his will, of course, but the relentless power of the Staff was the stronger.

There was nothing to be done.

“What are you plotting! Let me go! Damn you, Gandalf!”, Curunír snarled in his most vicious tone, shrinking back as far as he could from the looming iron manacles.

Gandalf made no reply, but only raised his Staff again, and Curunír found himself being shoved against the wall, and the shackles closed tightly and mercilessly around his slender wrists.

“What are you going to do - to me, Gandalf?” he asked now, in a voice that he hoped did not betray the great panic he felt.

Still no reply.

Saruman was experiencing, for the very first time in his long life, the true meaning of fear – real fear. He realized this, and felt a strange, bitter sense of resignation to it.

Soon, he would experience the true meaning of pain, as well.

The momentary resignation was replaced by the panic again, when Mithrandir’s Staff suddenly lit up at the ornate crystalline end, glowing brightly.

This was going to be bad.

“What do you want from me? Are you expecting me to plead for mercy from you? I will not!” Saruman whispered hoarsely, “What has come over you? Is this how you see fit to parlay with me? More threats?”

Gandalf backed away a few feet and looked at him, with what was nearly amusement:

Shackled, and secured firmly, with magic as well as the manacles themselves, Saruman was not in any position to argue or debate!

“Parlay with you? I see you have not lost your remarkable arrogance. Parlay, indeed, Curumo! Do you truly think I am interested in that, now? After what has been done – after all you have done, now?”

Gandalf approached him closely, and the glowing, heated end of the Staff was giving off an incandescent radiance.

It looked rather - painful.

Curunír felt his nerve began to slip away again - he began to feel very ill again, and his legs were becoming very weak.

The world fell out from under him, and he was suddenly suspended by the shackles alone.

Mithrandir slowly held up the Staff close to his face, and he could feel the heat of it.

Curunír breathed hard, every intake of air painful, with the appalling dread of what was coming.

“You have brought us to this strange and terrible point, Curumo.” Gandalf said very quietly. “I find myself going down a dark path at this moment, that I could never have dreamt of.”

But Saruman was not interested in the reasons, or the reasoning. He only desired escape, but there was none to be had.

The voice- that endless tormenter! – had fallen silent at last. There was no guidance, no aid now, from any quarter. He was all alone, trapped in the Tower – his own Tower.

All alone – with a vengeful and – and – insubordinate! – lackey of that pretender to the throne – alone.

Utterly abandoned to his fate.

The Staff was gone- !

Involuntarily, he groaned softly, and Mithrandir only looked at him sadly.

“You must be made to understand what you have done, Curumo. If you can never find remorse in your heart- then there is truly no hope. You can never receive forgiveness, if you do not believe you have done any ill! I have not given up yet. I – I cannot seem to reach you, by any – normal – means.”

Without warning, he moved the Staff and briefly touched Curunír with it, and then immediately took it away.

Curunír felt a strange, and unfamiliar sensation – he could not place it, really - he scarcely dared breathe, fearing that the sensation would increase if he did –

Gandalf was looking at him steadily, intently – and he raised the Staff again, and this time the feeling - the pain! – shocked him, and he flinched back violently, with a soft cry, closing his eyes.

And yet, even as he shrank back, his hips moved forward sharply, although he was not aware of it. There was another sensation, now - a feeling of warmth, a deep sweetness, somehow, that came out of the pain. It was there, alright, subtle as a lingering shadow, but unmistakable.

“Ah. Yes. Yes, that’s what I thought.”

Gandalf said quietly, frowning, ever so slightly. “So- I was correct.”

He bowed his head in sorrow, and closed his eyes.

So corrupt. I fear there is no cure for such madness, such deep illness of the soul.

SO TAINTED.

The evil that transmutes pain into pleasure- and the lust for pain that comes with it, to inflict it, ah, what can heal such malignancy of the soul?

 

Is he beyond my help, now?

 

 

He was very much afraid he already knew the answer.


	15. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Saruman strained against the shackles desperately – he was not feeling well at all by this point- his mind wheeled and crashed in on itself, and always, the red colors, spinning – he could not force his thoughts to clear now, and the fog which had invaded his mind only intermittently before, was now an all-encompassing shroud.

Gandalf has lost his wits, such as they are, he thought wildly, and I am at the mercy of a madman! The fact that, he himself had been engaging in far more horrific acts than this slight physical discomfort, only a very short time before, did not even enter his mind.

Mithrandir turned back to Saruman, who stared at him with wide, wild eyes.

Gandalf’s Staff was thrumming loudly, and it still was lit up with the outward manifestation of Power.

Mithrandir was now certain of what he had feared – it was a difficult test, and a hateful one, but it was the only way to be sure.

Curunír was beyond caring if he was found out, and found out, he was now indeed.

“No more secrets, Curumo. It is in the open now!”

And to prove the point to the fullest, he pulled open the sash of Curumo’s robes and flung them open:

Of his arousal, there was now no doubt.

“Gandalf - ” Curumo began to say something, and then he gave up- what could he say? There was really nothing to be said, not now.

Mithrandir stood there in silence, and for a very long moment, they simply regarded each other.

“You - need help, Curumo. Badly.”, Gandalf said gently- and the coldness in his voice was gone now.

“I do not know where the cure may be found, but I pray it exists. So this – this is what motivates you now - this fascination – this - this love affair with pain! – and yet, until now, you knew it not, but only ached with desire to inflict it.”

He sighed, and then said carefully:

“And now, that you have truly tasted that which you yearn for, I see it is to your liking.”

He frowned darkly, and shook his head sadly.

“Too much to your liking, I am afraid. The sickness in your soul must be addressed – and conquered! If you will not allow it- it will only devour your entire being. I will do what I can to help you- but you must allow it – if you do not, I fear you must remain restrained, for there will be none that can trust you!”

Saruman scowled at Mithrandir, and proceeded to unleash his rage-

“A pretty speech, Gandalf! Yes, very pretty! But what will happen when you finally release me? For you must either release me, or kill me!”

“Oh? He who is in chains yet, ought to keep his tongue in check!”

“I will kill you! I promise you that!”

Mithrandir replied in a voice of subdued power:

“Ah, you resist wisdom these days, do you not? I alone hold a Staff, and I alone have the Power to release you! Your crimes are now multiplied and amplified beyond my worst fears, and yet you still maintain the false air of superiority! Your senses- your desires- have been twisted into what they were never meant to be, and you have indulged your sick passions freely, never once feeling any restraint!”

Curunír glared at Mithrandir in fury, but now he fell silent.

And now Gandalf allowed his expression to soften somewhat, and he finished:

“I say this to you, not out of any hatred for you, but to force you – by violence and pain if that is the only way – to realize your dire situation! You can never be turned back, if you will not see you are heading the wrong way!”

Saruman snarled at him, an incoherent sound of pure rage- and total madness – and strained yet again to break free, and then slumped weakly in the restraints.

The fury took him utterly then, and he raised himself up again, and Mithrandir saw that the look on his face was sheer insanity. He had degenerated drastically since the torture he had witnessed, and it seemed as if this had merely caused something to bloom fully now.

His eyes flashed with hatred and anger of a kind Mithrandir had never seen before, and he began to rage again:

“I will make it my personal joy, to torture to death all you love, and you will be the very last, so you may witness it all! You have stolen my Staff, and taken my rightful Office, you thief, you usurper! But you have forgotten, I still have my Voice, and failing even that, my knowledge! I know spells, even said from a great distance, to kill, and to torture, to burst the organs and blind the eyes! Your halflings will never be safe, never, never, do you hear me!”

He had taken on an almost unearthly appearance, and his expression was beyond all reason. This was no mere outburst of anger at being defeated, Mithrandir realized, no normal response to his situation. It was so much worse than that.

And he truly could kill and hurt from a great distance- the ancient lore he knew was nearly endless.

Mithrandir recalled back, when Curunír had been far more lucid – he had pleaded with him to not be imprisoned, preferring death to being locked away.

And even if he was locked away, in hope of a future cure – he is not bluffing: he will use his magic, even when imprisoned.

Frodo, Pippin, Merry, Sam – they will never walk in safety again, as long as Curumo lives.

Could I just keep him in thrall, with my own magic, then – a sort of living death? Mithrandir shuddered- somehow, this seemed the cruelest of all. No, I cannot do that. I will have cut him off from any release from this- from any hope at all.

“Enough! Be silent, Curumo – be at peace, now!”

Mithrandir reached over to him, and touched his face gently – Curunír shivered slightly, unsure if this would be followed by some sort of painful action.

Curunír felt all his strength leave him, then, and he collapsed again, semi-conscious, held up only by the shackles.

It’s too late, Mithrandir thought sadly, there is no way to save him now. Even I must at last confess this to be true.

There is no hope for him now, not in this life.

I cannot reach him!

 

 

Mithrandir regarded him with a look of inexpressible grief, and then made his decision.


	16. Return to Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Gandalf slowly opened his eyes, and tried to come back to lucidity-  
his head hurt, and he felt very dizzy.

He gradually took in his surroundings, and then recalled what had  
happened.

Saruman! he thought suddenly, in dismay and fear.

Shakily, he stood up, and looked around at the ruin of Isengard.

The entire Tower had fallen, and it lay like a gigantic black tree on  
its side, still intact.

There were smoking shards of obsidian everywhere, and the mud and river water were turning a deep, strange black from the soot.

Somehow, he had survived.

Desperately, he looked around for Saruman.

Carefully, he walked on unsteady legs through the chaos, and then- he caught a glimpse of white.

He rushed over, and saw that it was indeed Saruman, and he lay very  
still, eyes closed.

Distraught with grief, Gandalf knelt down, fighting back tears.

"Curumo -I failed you- forgive me, my friend.."

He felt for Saruman's heartbeat, gently putting a scorched hand on  
his unmoving chest.

Silence.

Stricken, Gandalf touched Saruman's soot stained face, and ran his  
fingers down his cheek.

Then he bowed his head, closed his eyes, and murmured, "Why? Why must it be this way? Why? Is there nothing I can do?"

"You have done enough, my old friend."

Gandalf opened his eyes again, in disbelief.

Saruman lived!

He was looking at Gandalf with his dark wise stare, only now- now  
there was no malice- no lie in those eyes.

"Saruman!"

Gandalf was beside himself, and he embraced Saruman with all his  
strength.

"Gandalf-" Saruman whispered, "You- you nearly died to save me- why?"

"Need you even ask?", Gandalf breathed in his ear, and then kissed  
him on the throat, and then looked him in the eyes again.

Saruman looked at him strangely, almost as if there were a great deal he was unclear on.

But then he smiled, and Gandalf remembered how he had looked before he had fallen- and though he could scarcely believe it, he was seeing it again.

It was a beautiful sight.

"I love you, Curunír," he said very softly, leaning forward and tenatively placing his lips on Saruman's mouth- he looked into the eyes of his old Mentor, and felt as if he were falling into that inky blackness, only this time, it was safe to fall.

Saruman stared back into his gaze, with his unsettling steadiness-  
and then he closed his eyes, and returned the kiss with passion and  
fire.

They fell back together onto the sooty ground, as the sky still rained down smoky remnants.

"Gandalf- lisse melda-", Saruman murmured, his voice very thick and  
urgent.

They lay against each other, each feeling and enjoying the rising heat of the other, and pressing closely.

Gandalf felt his desire rising with a fearful intensity, and he moved to be atop Saruman, his eager hands finding their way under the now-tattered white robes, as they were still kissing with soft wet tongues.

"Gandalf- let it be as it was- and more than that! As you gave yourself for me, I now give myself to you."

Their legs entwined, Gandalf pushed against Saruman, his head  
spinning with excitement.

Their cocks were both fully aroused and close together, hard and  
aching already, and Gandalf moved against Saruman, increasing the  
sensations.

 

 

Under an apocalyptic canopy of smoke, they would make love, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding from Mordor, and, for a sweet though short time, free of the thrall of the danger.


	17. Beyond All Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

Mithrandir reached over with the Staff, and made a slight motion- the shackles fell off, and Curunír dropped – Mithrandir caught his limp form before he reached the ground.

No more, Mithrandir thought wearily.

No more pain, Curumo. Though you may long for it now, in your dark and twisted dreams, no more.

This is where it ends. For your sake, as well as all others.

Curunír lay before him, eyes closed– before he could open them again, Mithrandir aimed his Staff directly at his heart.

This is the only way, now, he thought sorrowfully.

You are too far gone, too deeply corrupted, and this is the only mercy I am able to give you now.

May the Valar give you compassion, and may you accept healing from them, as you will not from me.

He was about to summon all his energy into one last, fatal culmination, that would stop the heart instantly, and bring swift release.

He was surrounded by a great white light, as he gathered the power in the Staff.

Time to return home, now, Curumo.

And then Curunír opened his eyes, suddenly, and they widened in terror, as he realized what was about to happen.

“No!” he cried out, and Mithrandir felt his resolve slip away, as his eyes locked with Curunír’s.

“No! Gandalf! No!”

Curunír tried to move, but he was pinned, as if in the grip of some invisible restraint.

“Olorín – please!”

Please? Gandalf could not believe his ears. Had he just said- ‘please’??

Gandalf had never heard him say that word- ever.

And all his Will drained away, and the moment had come and gone.

And his heart overtook his mind and resolve, and he groaned inwardly, defeated, and took the Staff away from Curunír’s heart.

Curunír used the very last shreds of his own Power, and drew Gandalf down to him, without words, and they embraced in a graceful agony of passion, and the last extremity of hope.

Mithrandir felt his emotions rise, and then the anger began to well up in him, yet again, at all that Curunír had done – murderer, madman, tormenter, monster!!

But Curunír never lost his cunning, and his craft, even now, on the brink of total madness, and he slipped his arms around Gandalf’s neck, and whispered lies – utter, blasphemous lies – into his ear :

“Forgive me, Olorín, forgive me, I do beg you, forgive me my evil!”

It was all deceit, and merely a ploy to save his own life.

And Mithrandir knew it, in his heart, and yet he could not deny him, all the same.

“Forgive you, Curumo? Do you truly desire that? Or do you only wish to retain your life here, despite the murder and the madness?”

“I plead your mercy, I plead your compassion – I say this in all truth, my Olorín!”

Lies, all lies.

Mithrandir suddenly grasped him in a mighty and magical hold, and replied:

“Then, my Curumo, my dearest Curumo – if you speak the truth and not more deception - you will take the cure for your illness, and swallow the antidote for your poison! Do you, indeed, wish to be saved? Then so it shall be!”

And he began to radiate blinding Light, and the pure Power of love and holiness from within began to flood into Curunír - he gasped in pain, but this pain was a purifying pain, burning out and destroying the wickedness within him -

-and Mithrandir held him immobile, relentless.

And the evil in his soul screamed in bitter torture, even as it was made pure again by the Light, and in mortal agony, was the disease and infection of Sauron torn from Curunír, as he resisted desperately.

For miles around Isengard, there was a strange glow in the air- it changed from red to white, and then back again-

The world spun around the Tower, as the two Istari manifested the very essence of the Universe itself.

A deafening rumble began to sound from within the Tower, and as the Istari turned, slowly spinning in mid-air, the fabric of time and space began to protest, at the chaotic magic.

And in his own Tower, Sauron the Black seethed in unholy madness at the loss of his great servant.

They were locked together, two slowly writhing shapes, really only white blurs now, and if there had been anyone to see, they would have beheld a single dazzling shape – aglow with blinding radiance.

The energy being released, and then yet built up again, was of a nature not seen in Middle Earth since its creation- primal force – raw power of matter itself – far beyond anything even Sauron had ever played with - and as Mithrandir slowly realized what was occurring, the room was already bathed in an eerie white light – and the walls were humming – and cracking! – with the great overload of power.

Curumo suddenly seemed to become a living rainbow of light, and looking at Mithrandir in an ecstatic rapture, whispered sharply – “ You – have – released - me!” – and there was no more madness on his face, no more delirium –and it was only the truth he spoke now, and the lies were no more.

And Mithrandir held him close, rejoicing, but even as they embraced in the triumph of the moment, Orthanc itself began to sway sickeningly, rocking slowly back and forth –

Mithrandir strove then, deeply alarmed, to diminish the energy in the room – indeed, it permeated the whole of Isengard- to bring it back down to a less dangerous level, and then Curunír lunged against him again, and for the very last time – and the release came in visible and spectacular waves of colored light – far beyond ecstasy- this was far too primal and ancient an energy for any mortal terms-

And Mithrandir felt it come as well, though by this time he was desperately trying to control the unleashed Power – his mind swam crazily, and then, he too began to drown and fall into the primeval Ocean – vast energies, too vast for even an Istar to survive – and they truly became One, dissolving into a single brilliant Light.

It was too much – beyond anything that could be endured by the material world – and as their spirits and bodies alike melded together, there was an ear-splitting roar, and a flash of light, and an explosion of cataclysmic energy rose up from the base of Orthanc.

Miles away, the riders stopped their pace and wheeled back around - to their stunned and horrified surprise, they beheld a vast white cloud, rising from the direction they had left hours ago- Isengard!

“Gandalf!”, Aragorn cried out, in fear and grief, and they could do naught but watch now, as the gigantic cloud rose far above in the distance, and spread out, as in the semblance of a great tree.

Legolas cried out in horror and fear, and his voice was lost in the tremendous roar.

Merry and Pippin screamed, with one voice, and clung to one another in fright.

“We must go back!” Merry shouted above the din, “Something – horrible – has happened!”

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged stricken looks, and then Aragorn said gently:

“No – no- we must trust that Gandalf knows what he is doing. We must- we must - ” - and then his words drifted away, and he turned from them, so they would not see the tears in his eyes.

The hobbits began to weep openly now, and Legolas held them closely, but he could not speak, for his throat was closed with grief as well.

They rode to Rivendell in silence.

Overhead, scores of crebain flew noisily, in terrified confusion.

A pall had settled over the land, and the sun was now blood red, hidden behind a strange mist.

At Barad-Dur, Sauron howled in rage, and cursed the names of all.

Saruman the Wise- gone!

His greatest ally on Middle Earth- his willing servant!

But it was over, now.

He would no longer have the brilliant mind of the White Istar to conjure strategies.

 

 

 

The black fist clenched in fury, cheated of one of its own.


	18. Doomsday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

"There is no one to witness anything, all is still and quiet around  
us now. I do not know where the Ents have gone, but there is no life  
here now...save for us!"

So whispered Saruman, as he and Gandalf lay facing each other,  
through a red and smoky fog.

"Let me see you – all of you."

He motioned to Gandalf's robes, torn, filthy, and already half  
off. "Remove them."

Gandalf smiled back at Saruman, and did as he was bidden, noting with  
loving amusement, the plain lust in his old friend's dark eyes.

"I- can scarcely believe- you- are back to yourself! Yet, I can see-  
that you have- changed- to what you once were. I can see it, I can  
sense it..."

He moved closer, dropping the robe to the mud. "And I most assuredly  
can feel it..."

So saying, he wrapped one arm around Saruman's shoulder, and with the  
other hand, reached down and caressed him boldly.

For his part, Saruman bent his head down to Gandalf's shoulder and  
sighed softly, pressing into the pleasure of the grasping fingers.

"Now." Gandalf murmured, "You must also come to me, as we were  
created."

He slipped his hands into the sash of Saruman's robe, once so  
gleaming and white, and now, like his own, streaked with mud and soot.

Deftly, he pulled the robe off Saruman, and they lay very close,  
savoring the feel of each other's warmth, and the sensations of their  
cocks together again, caused Gandalf to shiver with excitement.

Instinct began to flow through them, and they moved their hips  
together with a slow, sensual motion, until finally it was too much  
for Saruman, who gasped "Enough! Enough...lie with me...now..."

He lay back on the wet ground, pulling Gandalf down onto him- Gandalf  
moved on top of him gracefully, as their legs entwined once more. He  
moved up, so he could reach Saruman and kiss his mouth, and they  
joined in this way for several moments, tongues sweetly probing and  
caressing each other.

Finally, breathlessly, Gandalf broke the kiss, and moved his head  
down, kissing Saruman's chest, admiring the finely sculpted muscles  
as he did so.

"Olórin...hurry..."

Saruman sounded quite unlike himself, very urgent, the deep voice  
strained with need and emotion.

Gandalf smiled rather wisely, and eased himself into a better  
position.

But what to use to ease the way?, he thought. He did not wish to hurt  
his lover, and making love with nothing to smooth the path was not a  
good idea...

"Curumo...first you must do something..I hope you will not object,  
too much...I would have your beautiful- and ever so skillful!- tongue  
upon me..and your ministrations shall smooth our endeavor!"

Saruman frowned, frustrated, yearning....and then he understood,  
perfectly, and moved around so that he could take Gandalf's large and  
fully engorged cock into his mouth. Before he did so, he licked his  
lips, his heart pounding- he could scarcely believe what he was about  
to do, but he felt a great desire for it.

Then he bent his head down, taking the end into his mouth carefully,  
and wrapping his long fingers around the shaft, tentatively, then  
more boldly.

He closed his eyes, tasting the saltiness, and was pleased with it.  
It was very good, the taste, and he found he did not mind doing this  
at all.

Gandalf groaned very softly, also stunned that Curunír's lips were  
around his cock, but extremely aroused by that fact. It was a  
heavenly, otherworldly sensation, and Gandalf reached down and  
stroked the long white hair, thrusting up into Saruman's warm mouth,  
feeling the ache increase greatly.

"Curunír...enough..it will be too much..in a moment....."

Anxious to proceed, Saruman ceased, and moved onto his back, and  
Gandalf moved back on top of him. His cock was now very slick, very  
slippery... and very hard.

Saruman lay under him, his dark eyes never leaving Gandalf's clear  
blue ones, and he dug his nails into Gandalf's shoulders, gritting  
his teeth slightly.

"Make haste, Olórin!"

Gandalf laughed, and murmured, "So impatient you are, as ever! Very  
well, I shall indulge you..."

And he moved Saruman's long legs around his hips, high, and  
positioned himself, leaning down so he could kiss him on the lips as  
he did so.

Finding the way in, he pushed very gently, and then harder, and then  
finally slipped inside, as Saruman closed his eyes under him, with a  
low throaty moan. "Olórin...lisse..lisse...ahhh..."

Gandalf moved into him very slowly, feeling the great pleasure of the  
tightness, so hot... "Curunír...I will be easy with you...slowly,  
slowly.."

Saruman opened his eyes and whispered urgently, "Not too slow, nor  
too easy!...I wish the full measure of your ability! I need no gentle  
touch...unleash full passion into me!"

Gandalf grinned down at him, and answered, "Very well, Curumo! Brace  
yourself, then!"– and he thrust in hard, much harder, and deep- so  
that he was buried all the way in. Saruman gasped, and clutched  
Gandalf's shoulders, urging him on, his expression one of tense  
ecstasy.

Gandalf moved with seething passion and feverish desire, and slipped  
one hand under Saruman to lift him up even higher- he pushed into him  
so ardently and so deeply, that Saruman dug his fingers into  
Gandalf's back, his still-restrained cries forcing their way out of  
his unwilling lips.

It was very close, he could feel it, and his whole body was slick  
with sweat, as was Gandalf's.

And then, with the intense friction causing sharp thrills of  
pleasure, the moment came for Saruman at last, and he grasped Gandalf  
around the shoulders, in an embrace that was nearly suffocating,  
thrashing under him wildly.

Gandalf could hold back no more, and shivered as the shockingly  
strong orgasm flowed through him, and he released a torrent of warmth  
inside Curunír, moaning softly.

He sighed deeply, in the bliss of the moment, and then allowed  
himself to slide out of Saruman, and then he lay beside him,  
breathing hard.

For what seemed like a very long time, they lay facing each other,  
not speaking, only looking into the other's eyes- and then, finally,  
Saruman reached over and stroked Gandalf's face and beard, lovingly,  
and whispered:

"Greyhame...there is something you need to know...something I must  
tell you now..."

Gandalf smiled wearily, and said:

"Speak, my old friend..you have my full attention."

Saruman's smile faded from his lips, and he became very serious, and  
he moved up to lean on one elbow.

"Sauron- Sauron has made provisions to ensure that- if he did not win-  
at least- neither would his enemies."

He paused, and swallowed hard.

Gandalf felt alarm run thin currents down his spine, and he too sat  
up, on one elbow. Only a few moments before, he had been at peace, or  
at least very close to it. Now, all he felt was concern, and it was  
increasing at every second.

Saruman looked at him gravely, and finally revealed the unspeakable  
secret:

"You recall, my Stormcrow, when I asked you to join with me in aiding  
Sauron? You must understand- there was much more reason to do so than  
you knew! You would not have listened to me, and I did not dare tell  
you any more, so obvious was your refusal! But I will tell you now:

Sauron has in place, by his magic, and his skill, a – a doomsday  
device! Ever the pupil of Melkor's reasoning, is Annatar! If he  
believes he is about to fall, he will assuredly activate it, and  
Middle Earth- will be no more!

Gandalf opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound he could form  
was a strangled, horrified gasp of dismay.

Saruman sighed tiredly, and looked away, murmuring:

 

 

"And I fear...we are getting very close to the time he may ...think  
to use it!"


	19. Incubus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

The journey to Mordor was long, and painfully tense.

Saruman and Gandalf spoke little over the days and nights, both feeling the great stress of what they were entering into.

But at one point, as they sat by their fire, Saruman turned to Gandalf, and asked him a question that was very difficult to answer:

“If we prevail, and stay his hand- then what? Shall we strive to slay him? Or cast him out, into some far-flung land? There is no land far enough, to create safety from one so mad!”

Gandalf sighed deeply, and reached out to touch Saruman’s troubled, weary face.

“Ever we must aspire to the highest, as you yourself taught me so long ago! If Annatar will allow it, we ought to spare his life, ill-gotten though it is! As for what to do with our captive- and we can only pray we are victorious over him, before he activates his infernal device! – but I will- give him a choice- all we can really do is to lock him away, or end his mortal life”

He sighed- and then continued:

“I do not like to kill, as you know very well. But in this case- it might be better- even for him! -but it will be his own choice. I will let him choose my blade or a life in restraint. Do you concur?”

Saruman looked away, his face grave and worried.

“Yes, for the most, I do. But we are assuming too far ahead, I suppose. Annatar is likely to put up a terrible fight, and one- or both of us- may not survive! He is a brother- but an elder brother- and his power is vast.”

They fell silent then, and found little sleep that night, in each other’s embrace against the cold.

And then, there before them, the great black Tower of Barad-Dur appeared on the horizon, like a demon’s fortress. And indeed, it very nearly was that.

With grave care and caution, the two Istari penetrated the Keep of Sauron.

With instinct and preternatural knowledge, they made their way to the Chamber of Annatar the Maleficent.

Sauron stood before a great wheel, alight with candles and charms, that loomed above, as if some malignant idol. His long golden hair fell down past his shoulders, and he wore robes as dark and inscrutable as his own soul.

He had his back turned to them, working on the wheel, muttering strange words- if there would ever be a time to strike, it would be now.

With the briefest of glances to one another, the two Istari leapt upon him from behind, Saruman wrapping his long arms around his neck, and Gandalf took out his legs, and they all fell to the stone floor, a chaotic tangle.

But it was not to be as they had expected.

Sauron did not battle fiercely, indeed, he did not battle at all.

Gandalf pressed his sword to Sauron’s throat, praying this might go no further.

“Surrender, Annatar!” Gandalf gasped hoarsely, “This ends, here and now, and you may choose to preserve your mortal life, or force me to end it. Either way, this is it!”

Saruman watched in silence, impressed that Gandalf would yet give Sauron a chance to live.

Sauron, for his part, knelt down, looking at his enemies with eyes that were wide with fear and shock- but when he spoke, his voice was soft, a dagger shrouded in velvet.

“I give way, you have bested me.” He hung his head, as if in submissive humility.

But Gandalf, not easily fooled, knew the deadly danger of his fallen brother Maia.

“Curunir! Bind his wrists behind him!”

Saruman took one of the many sashes from Sauron’s belt, and knelt down, wrapping it securely around Sauron’s slender wrists.

In seeming docility, Sauron remained silent, with head bowed. They could not see the slight smile on his mocking lips.

Finally, he spoke, as Gandalf finally took away the sword from his neck-  
“And what do you plan to do with me, now that you have me?”

Gandalf looked at Saruman, who frowned- then answered:

“There is no possibility of exile for you, Annatar, as you have proven, a life lived free, will be used to destroy others. You will be given over to a secure place, and there you will stay. I will not allow you to be executed, as you have given yourself in surrender- but I *do* give you a choice- do you prefer a quick release by my blade, or a long life spent in imprisonment in Gondor? If you choose the latter, you will not be harmed, or abused, but we will see to it you do not escape to wreak misery again! And if the former is taken…it will be very quick, and you will feel nothing. And then- you may go to explain yourself to the Valar, and I believe- if you will be truly remorseful, for once!- you will find mercy. But I am sure there will be some penalty, for what you have done! Tell, me, then, what is your decision?”

Sauron smiled, and replied:

“I do not choose death, after all I have gone through to live incarnate again! I place myself in your hands, my brothers, and trust you will treat me well enough.”

Gandalf sighed, and spoke to him in a tone of pity and regret:

“Alas, Annatar the Fair, that it has to come to this! So much more could you have been, than a lifelong prisoner in a city of Middle Earth! Someday, you will perhaps have another chance to redeem yourself, but for today, this is all that may be done. So be it, then.”

Sauron only smiled, and said nothing. But in his deep blue eyes, something began to stir, and Gandalf felt drawn to meet his gaze, as Saruman watched, alarmed, sensing danger.

He walked around and stood at Gandalf’s side, and then he, too, looked in the eyes of the Fairest Maia.

They fell within the cobalt sea, then, their eyes mutually locked, and Sauron held their gaze, as a snake holds the gaze of his prey.

Spellbound and speechless, they could only watch, as Sauron rose slowly to his feet, hands still bound behind his back- and then, the sash fell to the ground, and he raised his freed hands, and beckoned them to him.

With a smile still gracing his full lips, Sauron slipped off his heavy black robe, and drew the two hapless Istari forward, until they were all three very close.

Glamdring fell to the floor, with a loud crash, but no-one, including Gandalf, seemed to notice.  
In the inky and beautiful blackness of Annatar’s embrace, they could only succumb, never taking their eyes off his, drowning, dying, in the vivid blue depths.

Saruman muttered something, under his breath, as if in a dream- or a nightmare:

“Incubus..”

Sauron took them, then, even as they took him, and he gave himself to both of them at once, and they sank to the cold floor, Maiar entwined and entrapped, a tangle of bodies and minds.

At what point their own robes left their bodies, they would never know, and it did not matter now.

They surrounded him, as white angels around a victorious God, and entered him together, wrapped around him in mad passion. And only then, did the wise smile leave his lips, and he closed his deadly eyes, and swooned into the pleasure of what they were doing to him.

What they were all doing- together.

Barad-Dur stood tall and proud in its malevolence, as its Master joined in unholy union with his brothers, and their mingled cries echoed through the tall tower, causing the Orcs to look up in alarm.

The three Maiar were locked together body and soul, and in the two-in-one, three-were-one.

Savagely they thrust into him, both of their cocks straining hard inside him, striking against each other, and the two Istari enveloped Sauron in wild ecstasy, as he lay in their twinned embrace.

The beautiful face was shrouded in some unearthly shadow of flame and smoke, and his cries became very like those of his Nazgûl , screams from an endless Abyss. The long graceful body arched and thrashed, and in a mutual cataclysm they surrendered to unspeakable sensations, pleasure beyond imagining, and with it, doom past all reckoning.

 

In the darkness of the cloistered chamber, Sauron arose at last in the moonlight, body satisfied, and mind rejoicing.

He gazed down the sleeping and utterly spent Istari.

“My brothers..now we are one.”

And again, the smile flashed on the elegant lips.

Silently, and with the grace of a stalking panther, he knelt down and took their hands in his.

When he stood, they each bore a token of a brother’s affection…and more.

 

 

 

For, on their fingers, both Istari now wore a thick golden band, glistening in the bright moonlight.


	20. Conclusion: UTOPIA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Battle of Helm's Deep. A.U.

From Sauron’s POV.

 

 

 

 

Barad- Dur: the Capitol.

 

 

 

Together, my twin Istari angels and I look out over our world.

On either side they flank me, shining white, impossibly white, their faces set in identical expressions of stern calm.

Guardians of white fire.

I love beauty.

I have been accused of hating love, and life, and beauty, but it is not so.

I can love.

And I do appreciate beauty.

I love the beauty in the eyes of my Istari as we make love together, linked together in passion and devotion.

I love the scent of the spring roses now climbing along the bottoms of the Tower.

The clear blue sky, unhurt and unchanged.

The wide expanse of horizon, and the sight of my Nazgûl, silent watchers, protectors, keepers of the Law.

Melkor.

His voice...his touch...that, too, I love, with all my weary soul.

How I yearn for him.

I turn from the sight of my domain for a moment, lost in longing and desire, sweet nostalgia, and the anticipation of what is coming.

I look at my Maiar brethren, as they gaze stoically over the now flowering and awakening countryside.

“It has been a very long winter.”, I say.

Olórin looks at me, and smiles his easy, kind smile, and Curumo merely nods, and I know his mind is turning it all over.

Planning. Scheming. Thinking.

Such is his way.

My Ring? Why, it adorns my finger, as it ought to.

The halflings were pitifully easy to find, and I gave Olórin the honor of luring them to me. He agreed to do so with a strange look on his face, and then he carried out my command. He told them he had overpowered me, and I was bound, ready to take to Gondor, to be a lifelong prisoner.

They believed him! I still find a sense of wonder at it.

But they did believe him, and followed him, and then, gave him the Ring, when he asked for it.

"To keep it safe!", he had told them.

Frodo had asked him why he had not slain me, and Olórin had told him, “Out of mercy, he was defeated...”

Frodo had nodded, and his companion had frowned.

And then, he had brought them to me, to the Tower.

Their little eyes had bulged with shock and terror, but I could afford to be kind now.

As I slipped the Ring back on my aching finger, I had smiled at the little creatures, and removed my armor.

They looked upon my face with great wonder, and I laughed, then. They stared at me, transfixed.

“Does it please you, what you behold?” I asked them, and they trembled. And stared yet.

I sent them back to the Shire with a Nazgûl, and told them to “Prepare for changes..”.

And the changes have come, and they are good.

Gondor and Rohan are flourishing again, oh, to be sure, it took a while to convince them that all would go well, if they would be reasonable.

I had only to demonstrate that I could decimate the whole of Middle Earth, and they seemed to understand a little better, then.

The Wheel of Fire stands tall and silent, unused, save for small demonstrations.

Olórin was so very helpful in bringing the nations in line. They listened to him, and often Curumo had the ideas to put forward, and Olórin would go forth with them.

But War is over, now, and I do not see another one looming.

Until my Dark Heart comes back, of course.

And then, Valinor itself shall give way.

Manwë came to me in a vision last night, amusing and angering me. I have no hate for the creatures of this world, but the Valar..that is another case altogether.

He stood before me, his hated face alight with rage at me, and then sinking into a dreadful sort of pity.

“What do you want here?” I had seethed, loathing him.

“Give this up, give yourself up, cease this madness..and there will be mercy for you!”

I laughed at him. “Indeed? I know what you did to Melkor! And- I know what you would have done to me, had I not fled before! Mercy? Scarcely!”

I expected the anger to rise hotter, but it did not, and instead his face had softened greatly.

“Sauron...Melkor *was* given mercy...you know this! Only after he made plain he would never- indeed- could not- redeem himself, and had only utter destruction as his desire, was he cast where he could do no more ill! Was he tormented? Did we take pleasure in causing him pain? You know we did not, and he still lives, albeit in a less dangerous state!”

My hate for him was so strong, it was all I could perceive. His words fell around me harmlessly.

“Begone!” I hissed at him, and then he spoke again, holding out an imploring hand to me-

“Sauron- if you had surrendered before, you would have found leniancy! But I fear you had not the heart to face any consequences, nor any penalty at all! And so you fled, from our pardon and from our reach. And now- this! You have utterly usurped a world! Yet, I tell you, if you give way, if you will relent- there is yet mercy. You know I speak the truth!”

I had smiled at him, then, and replied, in my softest voice:

“Perhaps, and perhaps not! The mercy of an existence in a cold stupor? As you have given Melkor! But we shall never know! And you had best retreat to your own place, and tell the Valar..I am coming for them soon!”

He looked at me with a sad, horror-struck expression that froze even my hot blood, then, and whispered:

“You have been offered a way out, my poor deluded Annatar, and you are too blind with hate and lust for power to see it! No more, can I do. May you yet find your reason, before there is nothing existent of you to be found at all!”

I opened my mouth to scream curses at him, but he was already gone.

There is a sound of wings, now, as I come back to the present, and I see my magnificent King of Angmar, my dark and faithful servant, has come close, on his great dragon.

“My Lord...” He maneuvers the great beast close, as Curumo and Olórin watch impassively. “There is rumour of an uprising in Rohan! I seek leave to deal with it!”

I smile at him, admiring his courage- indeed, his fearlessness- and I answer:

“Faithful servant, First and Best, my Nazgûl ! Go and do as you must, Black Captain, and let victory be your comrade as ever!”

He has never wavered, this highest and greatest of the world of Men.

A King he is, indeed.

He draws and raises his sword in salute, and the flames race up the sides.

“Your Glory!” he shouts, and departs, the dragon winging its way towards Rohan.

The wind comes up, and blows my long hair around my face.

My Istari, as well, have their long silver-white tresses drifting around their serene and wise faces.

Long ago, so long ago...when proud Númenor had been drowned, and waves took us all, I had heard the voice of Mandos in my mind, telling me, in his stern manner, that all I touched, I tainted- I had been created as a maker of beauty, and now- I had perverted my gifts...and then he had come to close to me, and I had felt fear, true fear, and had turned away.

And I continued. I live. I always live.

As I look upon the broad expanse of my World, I ache again for my beloved, my heart, my Master.

Soon, Melkor, soon.

Smiling- I smile a great deal these days- I turn, and enter the dark embrace of Barad-Dur, my white guardians at my side.

Tainted?

Nay, not tainted. Do not say of it this.

 

 

 

Rather, say it is...PERFECTED.

 

 

 

 

 

 

FIN


End file.
